Post by Cabel on Jul 16, 2016 3:26:25 GMT -6
This profile is the Copyright and Property of Cabel, Guardian on Yappas Halo RPG. Characters, names profile, story, concept, and NPC's are © 2014, 2015, 2016 to Cabel.
The following post details a Mission in which, the current, Captain Mark Seamus 'Spade' Sorelson participated in at the rank of Staff Sergeant eighteen years prior to the current year of 2551. It would be assumed the details of such a mission would be classified within the boundaries and protocols of the UNSC, and that ONI would most likely have access to those details. Though, as it is an old mission it would have most likely been archived somewhere.
[Inner Colonies: System: Panis Eterni Sector: Planet: Esperanza II: Date: Month: Unspecified: Day: Unspecified: Time: Unspecified: Year: 2533]
[Location: Surface: Eight Klicks from Mountain Range: Interstate/Freeway I-16: Rest Area ’Old’ J7: Mission Type: Sting Ray: Operation Status: Black: ForceRecon/FORECON: Staff Sergeant Mark Seamus ‘Spade’ Sorelson]
The distant sounds of vehicles, mostly semi-tractors hauling containers of a myriad of cargo echoed along the otherwise quiet landscape long deserted by traffic from vehicles and from pedestrians, except for the reason why he and his team had been deployed to the world of Esperanza II. The Inner Colony of Esperanza II had gained the nickname of the breadbasket while its parent sector had been called the Eternal Bread Sector, and up until now had been a fairly laid back agricultural center for a myriad of harvested perishables and had rarely shown any sign of discontent or other activities illegal enough to have gained the eye of the UNSC. Reports gathered by the Office of Naval Intelligence, or ONI, had indicated an increase in human trafficking among some of the Inner and Outer Colony worlds although the exact amount eluded the young Staff Sergeant at the moment. His orders had been to gather his team, to brief them as much as possible in the presence of an officer from the Office of Naval Intelligence for several reasons, one of which had been more for Mark to insure his team knew how serious the stakes had been and that even the smallest amount of wiggle room hadn’t existed.
The other had been above Mark’s pay grade wherein the Office of Naval Intelligence had been able to identify the circle’s leader as a minor Insurrectionist operating with what he’d believed to be impunity against the UNSC and while the circle’s leader hadn’t been a big fish in the Insurrectionist movement ONI had been convinced his clients had been among the more widely established Insurrectionists. ONI had sent a handler to observe Mark and his team, but that part had been above his paygrade as well. The team had been given their marching orders and while his team would have preferred to have deployed from a UNSC corvette or even the Jabberwocky ONI had due to the nature of the mission assigned one of their stealth-equipped Prowlers to the task. The idea had been for the Prowler to slip into the sector undetected, and to deploy a BlackCat Subprowler with the ForceRecon team aboard to insert them on the surface before the sub-prowler slipped back into orbit.
The drop had happened a few hours earlier with the eight-man team having covered quite a bit of ground carefully, and had so far managed to remain undetected. Mark hadn’t been surprised his men had been angry about the Insurrectionists or the human trafficking, and if Mark had been honest which he had been he hadn’t blamed them. He’d enlisted in the UNSC Marine Corps to fight against the growing Insurrectionist threat and nearly a decade ago had fought on several different moons and at least one world against those mad Insurrectionists although with the introduction of a new threat in the so called Covenant the threat of the Insurrection had largely fallen by the wayside,…something Mark had wanted to force back into the limelight. The hard proof of the trafficking ring had only given one more reason for Mark to hate the Insurrectionists, and their idea of a holy crusade.
Staring through the purpose-designed thermal vision attached to his camouflaged CH52 helmet at the Rest Area, a structure with an angled tiled roof supported by instacrete walls dotted clearly with signs about what kind of facilities they had for weary travelers or even miners from the nearby mines, and a vacant parking lot that had started to actually become reclaimed by nature with small weeds having squeezed through cracks in the asphalt. The bright headlights from a single HuCiv HC1500 hauling a single sixty-foot long enclosed cargo container pulled into the parking lot of the darkened Rest Area, prompting Mark to follow the truck and its driver’s movements only moments before a second semi-tractor of the same make hauling two sixty-foot-long enclosed cargo containers slid into the parking lot near it and Mark hadn’t had to wait long before a pair of headlights pierced the night coming from the opposite direction to reveal a red colored Spade…a utilitarian flatbed truck mostly used in the colony worlds by those that hadn’t been able to afford a Warthog or the assembly kits. The Spade pulled into the same parking lot near the two semi-tractors, and before long two pick-up trucks came to rest not far from the other gathered vehicles. The drivers climbed out of their individual vehicles to open beers among other things and engaged in small conversations though Mark had been more interested in the exchange of various packets of paperwork among them.
As he’d been about to zoom in on the nearest figure which had still been at a rather decent distance from him, the young Staff Sergeant felt a warm liquid falling around him before he’d even noticed a pair of laced up boots standing near him. In the light provided only by the headlights of the gathered vehicles, one of the truck drivers had opted to wander off to relieve himself after having a few too many cups of coffee or soda or beer while on the road and had unfortunately managed to find Mark’s own hiding place among the tall grasses and other overgrowth. Knowing the success of the operation hinged on his remaining completely still, the young Staff Sergeant held his breath and fought every instinct to roll over or grab the man by the boots. There hadn’t been a doubt in Mark’s mind that the trucker relieving himself above him had been an Insurrectionist rather than an innocent trucker since otherwise the man wouldn’t have driven to the deserted Rest Area in the middle of nowhere to meet with other drivers or to transfer his cargo, and for that Mark fought every urge to grab him by the boots. Fortunately, the man moved off after finishing and from the fact he’d walked off had meant he hadn’t had the off-chance to look down or notice a marine in camouflage had been at his feet rather than the natural ground. Having held his breath long enough to make sure the man had not only left the nearby vicinity but had returned to his truck to imbibe even more beer, Mark zoomed in on the vehicles to observe their drivers and more importantly for the video-feed to be transmitted on an encrypted channel to the Subprowler in orbit for them to analyze.
As the vehicles pulled away from the Rest Area and back onto a nearby interstate, Mark waited a few minutes to make sure they hadn’t left any surprise guards or even a driver behind before slowly inching backwards in the tall grass. With the exception of two others that waited near one of the two Warthogs that had been deployed with them and to insure he wasn’t alone, the majority of his Team waited near an old interstate semi-tractor weigh-station that had been deactivated, but with its two storied tower and brick walls with an array of cameras that had been re-purposed for his Team’s use the structure provided both a means of protecting his Team and keeping them hidden from view. Making his way back to the M41 Vulcan equipped Warthog complete with a camouflage scheme to make it far more difficult to make out both in profile and purpose, Mark had passed along the recognition signal through a series of clicks over the throat-coms and climbed into the driver’s seat allowing enough time for the two other marines to take their positions. With one of the marines in the turret and the other in the passenger seat armed with an M7 SMG, the young Staff Sergeant guided the Warthog carefully back towards where the rest of his Team waited.
With the notion that maintaining the element of stealth on the operation hadn’t been the first priority given the nature of the operation, ONI had allowed the Team to requisition the use of two Warthogs in the belief that the Warthog’s speed and the firepower it could deliver would increase the chances of the survival of the Team. After a short time, their Warthog arrived at the old semi-truck weigh-station and after the recognition signals had been sent through the throat-coms he’d been able to brief his Team on the new developments. During the impromptu briefing, Mark and his Team had received both information pertaining to the owners of the vehicles from the BlackCat Operators over an encrypted channel they’d been able to see through the feed from Mark’s helmet and the authorization to use lethal force against the now known Insurrectionist agents involved. There hadn’t been a doubt in his mind that ONI had through their gathered intelligence had learned of the trafficking ring being led by a minor Insurrectionist, but now with the newly confirmed intelligence gathered from the video feed sent by the Staff Sergeant that the initial intelligence had been confirmed.
After overseeing the utilization of some thermite-carbon cord to destroy any materials left behind mainly the camera monitors to computer systems and their servers to other such materials in the weigh-station, the eight-man Team mounted up on the two Warthogs. The marines split up between the two Warthogs with Mark taking the same one he’d driven to the Rest Area along with three other marines while the other Warthog armed with an M68 Gauss cannon had the other four marines, and with their packs secured the two Warthogs took off from the weigh-station. Latching onto a tracking frequency with even video feed provided by a small unmanned drone launched by the BlackCat Subprowler in orbit, the two Warthogs laden with marines and weapons proceeded along an auxiliary service road that ran parallel at times to the interstate the convoy from the Rest Area traveled along unaware of the party pursuing them from a distance.
* * * * * *
[Nineteen Minutes later: Mining Parts Warehouse]
Pings sounded off of the bulletproof material of the Warthog’s windshield causing Mark to wince even though the windshield had been more than enough to stop the small-arms fire, but the marine manning the M41 turret brought the triple-barrel gun around on its mount to strafe a small group of three armed Insurrectionists firing at the marines from an old jeep. The controlled burst from the Vulcan tore holes through the jeep’s side panels leaving the Insurrectionists down for the count. Tracers of small arms to the white hot lances from a Gauss cannon created a surreal light show in the middle of the night. Any locals of the colony that might have been out stargazing or even heading home from the end of a graveyard shift would have assumed it to have been an odd fireworks display, but if it weren’t for the explosions and gunfire echoing for miles around in the still night it might have even been peaceful.
Even though the raid had started nearly ten minutes earlier, a few vehicles ranging from pick-up trucks to a Civet sedan to the burning cab of an HuCIV 1500 semi-tractor burned on the grounds surrounding the massive warehouse that had up until that point masqueraded as a shipping and storage for mining parts as a cover-up for a human-trafficking ring. The two Warthogs had trailed the small convoy from the Rest Area along the interstate to the warehouse, and shortly after the operation had started when one of the trigger-happy Insurrectionists armed with a bullpup rifle had opened fire upon spotting the four-wheeled utilitarian vehicles.
A dozen armed Insurrectionists had poured out from the warehouse surprising the young Staff Sergeant, but adhering to his orders and his hatred for the Insurrectionists Spade had opened fire. A few vehicles driven by Insurrectionists attempted to catch one or both of the Warthogs off-guard, but the marines in those Warthogs peppered those vehicles rendering them into molten slag.
“Zulu Five to Zulu Actual,…I’m not detecting any additional external movement on the scanners. My scopes are reading negative movement,” came a voice over the encrypted frequency on his vehicle’s radio. His Team had been given the call-sign of Zulu for this mission, which ONI had apparently approved of as the marine with that particular call-sign had reassured him.
“Acknowledged, Zulu Five. Zulu Actual to all Zulu Call-signs, Eyes open. There may not be external movement in the nearby vicinity, but I have a feeling our hosts are preparing a surprise party for us inside,” Mark replied over the same encrypted frequency and kept it on a rotating encryption.
* * * * * *
The bodies of several Insurrectionists ranging from male to female lay crumpled at different angles along the concrete warehouse floor amidst heavy mine machinery as four marines with weapons trained carefully inched along, but as one of his Team by the call-sign Zulu Three inched along behind one of the heavier mining cranes with a massive shovel or scoop at the end of its single articulated arm a single clap filled the warehouse followed by the marine taking cover behind the crane’s treads clutching a bloody right leg.
“I didn’t think the UNSC would be stupid enough to send such a small team after me. I feel insulted,” a voice called out, in a loud tone carried through the space of the warehouse.
Quickly, Mark took cover behind one of the pieces of heavier machinery while two of the marines quickly darted over to slip in behind the same crane as the wounded marine. One of the other marines by the call-sign Zulu Six took out a small can of Biofoam and gently inserted it into the leg-wound causing the marine to have to bite back his scream of discomfort.
“What? You can talk, can’t you?” the voice asked, egging them on or attempting to. From Mark’s perceptive and those of his marines, it was a failed attempt. “Shit!” A deep rumble followed by the sound of corrugated steel of one of the closed garage doors being shredded filled the warehouse breaking the man’s goading and gave a relief to those marines that had accompanied Mark inside. Looking over at the three other marines, Mark took a gamble and hoping their welcoming party had been forced to clear out quickly darted over behind the crane to join the three other marines.
“How bad is it?” Mark asked in a whisper to Zulu Six.
“The bullet didn’t go through, and it’s still lodged in the leg. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now with Biofoam, but even with the stocked med kits in our packs and the Warthogs we’ll need to get him to a proper facility in the next few hours,” the marine explained quietly having pulled out the med-kit from her pack and had opened it. From the looks of it, she’d started to wrap gauze around her Team-mate’s bloodied leg.
“If this thing lasts that long, we’ve failed. We’ll get him the proper treatment,” Mark replied.
“I know,” Zulu Six said. “I’m going to stay with him, and I’ll signal one of the Warthogs to come around so we can place him in the bed. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,”
“Zulu Actual to Zulu Two swing by and bring the Warthog by the first garage opening on the left approaching the warehouse. We’ll provide cover-fire, but keep that turret ready. Zulu Five keep your Warthog at a distance and scanning for any Insurrectionist armor,” Mark ordered, quietly over the throat-coms to the rest of his Team in the Warthogs. He’d weighed the options and in knowing that a Marine never left anyone behind as the Corps motto held, Mark had opted to stay long enough until the wounded marine and the marine tending to him had climbed aboard one of the Warthogs. He’d been certain ONI would have him debriefed about the entire affair, but at the same time the Office of Naval Intelligence had left it up to his own discretion how they operated on the ground and being a Marine first Mark hadn’t been about to leave a member of his Team behind.
The moment a muffled sound of rubber soled boots on concrete caught the young Staff Sergeant’s ears, he’d been about to gesture to his marines to be quiet when an object three hundred sixty-five millimeters in length with a black-inverted cap mounted on the end of a wooden stake landed firmly in his right hand after being lobbed over the heavy crane. Instinct overrode his decision before he’d recognized the object as a grenade, and fervently hoping the fuse hadn’t burned out Mark quickly lobbed it with his full strength back over the top of the heavy mining crane to hear less than a moment later the combined shouts of confusion from two unfortunate poorly trained Insurrectionists to be met by their own grenade. A bloodied arm still attached to one of the Insurrectionists landed on the treads of the heavy mining crane opposite from where the marines hid with the other having been disintegrated by the grenade itself.
* * * * * *.
[Five Minutes later: Mining Parts Warehouse: 2nd Floor/Office Floor/Outside Warehouse]
The wood paneling lining the hallway lay pockmarked and splintered from a thirty-cal machine gun that had been set up by a few Insurrectionists in an office twenty meters or sixty-five feet at the other end of hallway branching off to the left, which kept both Mark and the marine with the call-sign of Zulu Seven in cover behind a thick brick mason wall. With the exception of the corrugated steel used in the structure’s three garage doors, the brick mason walls mostly made up the other elements of the warehouse although as Mark had found on the second floor the owner of the place had seen to installing wooden panels to line those walls. Having stayed long enough on the ground level behind the crane while both the wounded marine and his caretaker had been seen to safety aboard one of the two Warthogs, Mark had continued slowly up to the second floor with the other marine coming up behind him. Having cleared the staircase, the two marines had methodically cleared a series of offices flanking the hallway and had found that main hallway had created a T-intersection with a secondary hallway halfway down branching off to the left though before the two could have proceeded the distinctive sound of a thirty-cal opening up forced them behind cover.
The notion they hadn’t encountered anyone else on the floor except as Mark had to remind himself the people they had been sent to neutralize hadn’t been typical colonists or factory workers, but armed Insurgents that hadn’t cared about any of the laws they violated or how many UNSC personnel they killed as long as they forced their intent. Unable to move as a few short bursts from the thirty-cal ripped the wood paneling to shreds, the two marines having taken cover behind the same wall merely glanced at each other before a plan formed between them. Remembering the M301 40mm grenade launcher underslung attachment of his MA5K, Mark reached into his pack to retrieve a 40mm cartridge concussive grenade designed for the M301 and sliding the barrel for the attachment aside had been able to load it. Quietly sliding the barrel back into place along the under-side of the MA5K, he heard a satisfying soft click meaning there had been a snug fit.
Taking a slow deep breath before giving a nod to the other marine to cover him, Mark waited until another burst from the thirty-cal shredded the wood panel before ducking around the corner training his rifle on the machine gun nest improvised from at least one overturned desk to metal filing cabinets. As a second burst from the thirty-cal flew past him, the young Staff Sergeant squeezed back on the secondary trigger provided by the M301 lobbing the grenade in an arc over the improvised barrier to land behind the small gun crew before ducking back into cover. A moment later, the grenade detonated sending out a concussive wave powerful enough to liquify anyone within a six foot radius without causing damage to the surrounding walls. When the thirty-cal had gone silent, Mark quickly looked around the corner to find the bodies of three Insurrectionists either slumped across the improvised barrier or around it with the thirty-cal‘s barrel still smoking from the last rounds fired.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Mark advanced down the hallway with the other marine covering his Team-leader. Having checked the area for booby-traps and even trip-wires or even a loose grenade, the two Marines swept the cluttered office while putting a round each into the heads of the fallen machine gun crew to insure they hadn’t played dead. A screech of tires against concrete broke the silence as an armored van or rather a cheaply made armored car with its improvised armored plating to the steel bars over the windows sped away from the rear of the warehouse, and while it had surprised Mark it only gave him one more to stop them.
“Damn…” Mark swore realizing the Insurrectionist ring leader had managed to get the drop on them. “Zulu Two and Five bring the vehicles around. We’ve got a rabbit on our hands,”
“Hold that thought,” the other marine said. He’d found an old M21 Sniper rifle with a wooden butt-stock and polished barrel complete with a telescoping ranged sight, and had stripped two bandoleers from one of the fallen from the gun crew. “I think I can make that shot. A seven-point six-two round to the engine block, and that armored car rip-off should be disabled,”
“Then do it,” Mark said as the two made their way over to a nearby window with a good view of the get-away van. While the other marine set up the rifle complete with sliding a magazine in place, the young Staff Sergeant kept his weapon ready to provide cover and much to his admiration the other marine with the sniper rifle took the time to readjust the telescoping sight to compensate for the ever-widening distance. Stepping aside as the younger marine angled low enough through the window while resting the barrel on the window sill, the other marine controlled his breathing before lining up the scope on the van’s engine block before slowly squeezing the trigger. Hot gas escaped from the muzzle of the barrel propelling the seven-point six-two millimeter round across the concrete towards the escaping van, and before the report of the rifle had been heard the van rolled to a dead stop. The round had punched through the thin bulkhead surrounding the van’s engine block not that much longer after it had left the barrel.
“Remind me when we get back to buy you a drink,” Mark said, complimenting the young marine’s marksmanship before racing out to the ground floor with the other marine following suit. Taking the stairs in short time, the two marines raced outside to meet the two Warthogs with the rest of their Team before Mark almost leaped into the driver’s seat of the M41 LAAG. In very short time, the two armed Warthogs with their armed crews had swung around the warehouse to come alongside the van. The Gauss hog kept at a distance ahead of the van while Mark brought his Warthog behind it with the triple-barreled M41 Vulcan aimed at the twin rear doors. While some of the marines dismounted taking cover behind the Warthogs, Mark dismounted and slowly made his way towards the driver’s side. Several of the other marines had held the same idea by creeping along the sides of the van before covering appropriate angles of fire if the people in the van hadn’t quite managed to get the picture.
He’d been about to grab the door handle when the door swung open to reveal a rather angry Insurrectionist whom tackled the young Staff Sergeant to the ground or would have, and resulted in both of them struggling on the still warm concrete. Using the Insurrectionist’s momentum, Mark threw the man onto the concrete before the marine brought his knee down on the man’s throat followed by the barrel of the black schemed M6C/SOCOM centimeters from the man’s face.
“Stay!” Mark stated in that rough Drill Instructor tone of his as the man stopped struggling to free himself. One of the other marines had managed to catch up with Mark as the two men had struggled, and managed to confiscate the man’s revolver.
He hadn’t even had to issue the order for his Team to have secured the van as the two Warthogs had pulled up closer prompting the three other armed Insurrectionists inside the van to surrender, and left the other marine to help Mark pull the other man to his feet. With the four Insurrectionists having been restrained with ONI-designed manacles, Mark accompanied by two other marines took the time to open the van’s rear-doors. As the locks fell away and the doors swung open, eight young adults…four young men and four young women whom couldn’t have been older than their early twenties stared back at the marines with expressions of relief. A few of the young women broke out in tears while Mark helped each one out of the van after removing their restraints and after he’d stepped out of the back of the van had nearly been knocked off his feet by one of the young women hugging him.
“It’s alright…” he’d say, a few times to console the young women as she clung to him as if she hadn’t been able to believe they’d been rescued. His own arms went around her, either out of the notion he’d been a father for a few years or that he’d felt that little human gesture might have made the world to her. “You’re safe now. Easy…breath,”
“You can’t get away with this! You ruined a good business…” the ring-leader began before Mark approached the man with the young woman holding onto him as if she’d felt Mark had been a figment of her imagination.
“Say another rash word, and I’ll disarm you again,” Mark threatened while holding his M6C/SOCOM angled between the man’s legs.
* * * * * *
After the report had been made to the BlackCat Operators in orbit to be relayed to those aboard the Prowler that the Operation had been a success with the trafficking ring having been neutralized, Mark had made sure the young adults had been seen to. Their health, mental state and even state of nutrition had been a priority as no one on Mark’s Team had wanted to sedate anyone or to have them believe the worst had transpired. Roughly half an hour later after the darkened hull of the BlackCat Subprowler had set down gently on the open concrete lot behind the warehouse, a massive cargo ramp descended allowing Mark with the Warthogs and the extra passengers to board. As soon as everything and everyone had been secured, the Subprowler had taken off leaving for orbit and on a random course back to the Prowler. While waiting for their pick-up, Mark with another marine had returned to the warehouse on foot and had confiscated the thirty-cal machine gun with the ammunition. The marine that had taken out the van’s engine block had opted to keep the M21 Sniper Rifle he’d found, but while the Team had confiscated a few of the Insurrectionists’ heavier weapons the safety of the young adults that would have been sold elsewhere had meant the operation had been a rather successful one.
The following post details a Mission in which, the current, Captain Mark Seamus 'Spade' Sorelson participated in at the rank of Staff Sergeant eighteen years prior to the current year of 2551. It would be assumed the details of such a mission would be classified within the boundaries and protocols of the UNSC, and that ONI would most likely have access to those details. Though, as it is an old mission it would have most likely been archived somewhere.
[Inner Colonies: System: Panis Eterni Sector: Planet: Esperanza II: Date: Month: Unspecified: Day: Unspecified: Time: Unspecified: Year: 2533]
[Location: Surface: Eight Klicks from Mountain Range: Interstate/Freeway I-16: Rest Area ’Old’ J7: Mission Type: Sting Ray: Operation Status: Black: ForceRecon/FORECON: Staff Sergeant Mark Seamus ‘Spade’ Sorelson]
The distant sounds of vehicles, mostly semi-tractors hauling containers of a myriad of cargo echoed along the otherwise quiet landscape long deserted by traffic from vehicles and from pedestrians, except for the reason why he and his team had been deployed to the world of Esperanza II. The Inner Colony of Esperanza II had gained the nickname of the breadbasket while its parent sector had been called the Eternal Bread Sector, and up until now had been a fairly laid back agricultural center for a myriad of harvested perishables and had rarely shown any sign of discontent or other activities illegal enough to have gained the eye of the UNSC. Reports gathered by the Office of Naval Intelligence, or ONI, had indicated an increase in human trafficking among some of the Inner and Outer Colony worlds although the exact amount eluded the young Staff Sergeant at the moment. His orders had been to gather his team, to brief them as much as possible in the presence of an officer from the Office of Naval Intelligence for several reasons, one of which had been more for Mark to insure his team knew how serious the stakes had been and that even the smallest amount of wiggle room hadn’t existed.
The other had been above Mark’s pay grade wherein the Office of Naval Intelligence had been able to identify the circle’s leader as a minor Insurrectionist operating with what he’d believed to be impunity against the UNSC and while the circle’s leader hadn’t been a big fish in the Insurrectionist movement ONI had been convinced his clients had been among the more widely established Insurrectionists. ONI had sent a handler to observe Mark and his team, but that part had been above his paygrade as well. The team had been given their marching orders and while his team would have preferred to have deployed from a UNSC corvette or even the Jabberwocky ONI had due to the nature of the mission assigned one of their stealth-equipped Prowlers to the task. The idea had been for the Prowler to slip into the sector undetected, and to deploy a BlackCat Subprowler with the ForceRecon team aboard to insert them on the surface before the sub-prowler slipped back into orbit.
The drop had happened a few hours earlier with the eight-man team having covered quite a bit of ground carefully, and had so far managed to remain undetected. Mark hadn’t been surprised his men had been angry about the Insurrectionists or the human trafficking, and if Mark had been honest which he had been he hadn’t blamed them. He’d enlisted in the UNSC Marine Corps to fight against the growing Insurrectionist threat and nearly a decade ago had fought on several different moons and at least one world against those mad Insurrectionists although with the introduction of a new threat in the so called Covenant the threat of the Insurrection had largely fallen by the wayside,…something Mark had wanted to force back into the limelight. The hard proof of the trafficking ring had only given one more reason for Mark to hate the Insurrectionists, and their idea of a holy crusade.
Staring through the purpose-designed thermal vision attached to his camouflaged CH52 helmet at the Rest Area, a structure with an angled tiled roof supported by instacrete walls dotted clearly with signs about what kind of facilities they had for weary travelers or even miners from the nearby mines, and a vacant parking lot that had started to actually become reclaimed by nature with small weeds having squeezed through cracks in the asphalt. The bright headlights from a single HuCiv HC1500 hauling a single sixty-foot long enclosed cargo container pulled into the parking lot of the darkened Rest Area, prompting Mark to follow the truck and its driver’s movements only moments before a second semi-tractor of the same make hauling two sixty-foot-long enclosed cargo containers slid into the parking lot near it and Mark hadn’t had to wait long before a pair of headlights pierced the night coming from the opposite direction to reveal a red colored Spade…a utilitarian flatbed truck mostly used in the colony worlds by those that hadn’t been able to afford a Warthog or the assembly kits. The Spade pulled into the same parking lot near the two semi-tractors, and before long two pick-up trucks came to rest not far from the other gathered vehicles. The drivers climbed out of their individual vehicles to open beers among other things and engaged in small conversations though Mark had been more interested in the exchange of various packets of paperwork among them.
As he’d been about to zoom in on the nearest figure which had still been at a rather decent distance from him, the young Staff Sergeant felt a warm liquid falling around him before he’d even noticed a pair of laced up boots standing near him. In the light provided only by the headlights of the gathered vehicles, one of the truck drivers had opted to wander off to relieve himself after having a few too many cups of coffee or soda or beer while on the road and had unfortunately managed to find Mark’s own hiding place among the tall grasses and other overgrowth. Knowing the success of the operation hinged on his remaining completely still, the young Staff Sergeant held his breath and fought every instinct to roll over or grab the man by the boots. There hadn’t been a doubt in Mark’s mind that the trucker relieving himself above him had been an Insurrectionist rather than an innocent trucker since otherwise the man wouldn’t have driven to the deserted Rest Area in the middle of nowhere to meet with other drivers or to transfer his cargo, and for that Mark fought every urge to grab him by the boots. Fortunately, the man moved off after finishing and from the fact he’d walked off had meant he hadn’t had the off-chance to look down or notice a marine in camouflage had been at his feet rather than the natural ground. Having held his breath long enough to make sure the man had not only left the nearby vicinity but had returned to his truck to imbibe even more beer, Mark zoomed in on the vehicles to observe their drivers and more importantly for the video-feed to be transmitted on an encrypted channel to the Subprowler in orbit for them to analyze.
As the vehicles pulled away from the Rest Area and back onto a nearby interstate, Mark waited a few minutes to make sure they hadn’t left any surprise guards or even a driver behind before slowly inching backwards in the tall grass. With the exception of two others that waited near one of the two Warthogs that had been deployed with them and to insure he wasn’t alone, the majority of his Team waited near an old interstate semi-tractor weigh-station that had been deactivated, but with its two storied tower and brick walls with an array of cameras that had been re-purposed for his Team’s use the structure provided both a means of protecting his Team and keeping them hidden from view. Making his way back to the M41 Vulcan equipped Warthog complete with a camouflage scheme to make it far more difficult to make out both in profile and purpose, Mark had passed along the recognition signal through a series of clicks over the throat-coms and climbed into the driver’s seat allowing enough time for the two other marines to take their positions. With one of the marines in the turret and the other in the passenger seat armed with an M7 SMG, the young Staff Sergeant guided the Warthog carefully back towards where the rest of his Team waited.
With the notion that maintaining the element of stealth on the operation hadn’t been the first priority given the nature of the operation, ONI had allowed the Team to requisition the use of two Warthogs in the belief that the Warthog’s speed and the firepower it could deliver would increase the chances of the survival of the Team. After a short time, their Warthog arrived at the old semi-truck weigh-station and after the recognition signals had been sent through the throat-coms he’d been able to brief his Team on the new developments. During the impromptu briefing, Mark and his Team had received both information pertaining to the owners of the vehicles from the BlackCat Operators over an encrypted channel they’d been able to see through the feed from Mark’s helmet and the authorization to use lethal force against the now known Insurrectionist agents involved. There hadn’t been a doubt in his mind that ONI had through their gathered intelligence had learned of the trafficking ring being led by a minor Insurrectionist, but now with the newly confirmed intelligence gathered from the video feed sent by the Staff Sergeant that the initial intelligence had been confirmed.
After overseeing the utilization of some thermite-carbon cord to destroy any materials left behind mainly the camera monitors to computer systems and their servers to other such materials in the weigh-station, the eight-man Team mounted up on the two Warthogs. The marines split up between the two Warthogs with Mark taking the same one he’d driven to the Rest Area along with three other marines while the other Warthog armed with an M68 Gauss cannon had the other four marines, and with their packs secured the two Warthogs took off from the weigh-station. Latching onto a tracking frequency with even video feed provided by a small unmanned drone launched by the BlackCat Subprowler in orbit, the two Warthogs laden with marines and weapons proceeded along an auxiliary service road that ran parallel at times to the interstate the convoy from the Rest Area traveled along unaware of the party pursuing them from a distance.
* * * * * *
[Nineteen Minutes later: Mining Parts Warehouse]
Pings sounded off of the bulletproof material of the Warthog’s windshield causing Mark to wince even though the windshield had been more than enough to stop the small-arms fire, but the marine manning the M41 turret brought the triple-barrel gun around on its mount to strafe a small group of three armed Insurrectionists firing at the marines from an old jeep. The controlled burst from the Vulcan tore holes through the jeep’s side panels leaving the Insurrectionists down for the count. Tracers of small arms to the white hot lances from a Gauss cannon created a surreal light show in the middle of the night. Any locals of the colony that might have been out stargazing or even heading home from the end of a graveyard shift would have assumed it to have been an odd fireworks display, but if it weren’t for the explosions and gunfire echoing for miles around in the still night it might have even been peaceful.
Even though the raid had started nearly ten minutes earlier, a few vehicles ranging from pick-up trucks to a Civet sedan to the burning cab of an HuCIV 1500 semi-tractor burned on the grounds surrounding the massive warehouse that had up until that point masqueraded as a shipping and storage for mining parts as a cover-up for a human-trafficking ring. The two Warthogs had trailed the small convoy from the Rest Area along the interstate to the warehouse, and shortly after the operation had started when one of the trigger-happy Insurrectionists armed with a bullpup rifle had opened fire upon spotting the four-wheeled utilitarian vehicles.
A dozen armed Insurrectionists had poured out from the warehouse surprising the young Staff Sergeant, but adhering to his orders and his hatred for the Insurrectionists Spade had opened fire. A few vehicles driven by Insurrectionists attempted to catch one or both of the Warthogs off-guard, but the marines in those Warthogs peppered those vehicles rendering them into molten slag.
“Zulu Five to Zulu Actual,…I’m not detecting any additional external movement on the scanners. My scopes are reading negative movement,” came a voice over the encrypted frequency on his vehicle’s radio. His Team had been given the call-sign of Zulu for this mission, which ONI had apparently approved of as the marine with that particular call-sign had reassured him.
“Acknowledged, Zulu Five. Zulu Actual to all Zulu Call-signs, Eyes open. There may not be external movement in the nearby vicinity, but I have a feeling our hosts are preparing a surprise party for us inside,” Mark replied over the same encrypted frequency and kept it on a rotating encryption.
* * * * * *
The bodies of several Insurrectionists ranging from male to female lay crumpled at different angles along the concrete warehouse floor amidst heavy mine machinery as four marines with weapons trained carefully inched along, but as one of his Team by the call-sign Zulu Three inched along behind one of the heavier mining cranes with a massive shovel or scoop at the end of its single articulated arm a single clap filled the warehouse followed by the marine taking cover behind the crane’s treads clutching a bloody right leg.
“I didn’t think the UNSC would be stupid enough to send such a small team after me. I feel insulted,” a voice called out, in a loud tone carried through the space of the warehouse.
Quickly, Mark took cover behind one of the pieces of heavier machinery while two of the marines quickly darted over to slip in behind the same crane as the wounded marine. One of the other marines by the call-sign Zulu Six took out a small can of Biofoam and gently inserted it into the leg-wound causing the marine to have to bite back his scream of discomfort.
“What? You can talk, can’t you?” the voice asked, egging them on or attempting to. From Mark’s perceptive and those of his marines, it was a failed attempt. “Shit!” A deep rumble followed by the sound of corrugated steel of one of the closed garage doors being shredded filled the warehouse breaking the man’s goading and gave a relief to those marines that had accompanied Mark inside. Looking over at the three other marines, Mark took a gamble and hoping their welcoming party had been forced to clear out quickly darted over behind the crane to join the three other marines.
“How bad is it?” Mark asked in a whisper to Zulu Six.
“The bullet didn’t go through, and it’s still lodged in the leg. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now with Biofoam, but even with the stocked med kits in our packs and the Warthogs we’ll need to get him to a proper facility in the next few hours,” the marine explained quietly having pulled out the med-kit from her pack and had opened it. From the looks of it, she’d started to wrap gauze around her Team-mate’s bloodied leg.
“If this thing lasts that long, we’ve failed. We’ll get him the proper treatment,” Mark replied.
“I know,” Zulu Six said. “I’m going to stay with him, and I’ll signal one of the Warthogs to come around so we can place him in the bed. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,”
“Zulu Actual to Zulu Two swing by and bring the Warthog by the first garage opening on the left approaching the warehouse. We’ll provide cover-fire, but keep that turret ready. Zulu Five keep your Warthog at a distance and scanning for any Insurrectionist armor,” Mark ordered, quietly over the throat-coms to the rest of his Team in the Warthogs. He’d weighed the options and in knowing that a Marine never left anyone behind as the Corps motto held, Mark had opted to stay long enough until the wounded marine and the marine tending to him had climbed aboard one of the Warthogs. He’d been certain ONI would have him debriefed about the entire affair, but at the same time the Office of Naval Intelligence had left it up to his own discretion how they operated on the ground and being a Marine first Mark hadn’t been about to leave a member of his Team behind.
The moment a muffled sound of rubber soled boots on concrete caught the young Staff Sergeant’s ears, he’d been about to gesture to his marines to be quiet when an object three hundred sixty-five millimeters in length with a black-inverted cap mounted on the end of a wooden stake landed firmly in his right hand after being lobbed over the heavy crane. Instinct overrode his decision before he’d recognized the object as a grenade, and fervently hoping the fuse hadn’t burned out Mark quickly lobbed it with his full strength back over the top of the heavy mining crane to hear less than a moment later the combined shouts of confusion from two unfortunate poorly trained Insurrectionists to be met by their own grenade. A bloodied arm still attached to one of the Insurrectionists landed on the treads of the heavy mining crane opposite from where the marines hid with the other having been disintegrated by the grenade itself.
* * * * * *.
[Five Minutes later: Mining Parts Warehouse: 2nd Floor/Office Floor/Outside Warehouse]
The wood paneling lining the hallway lay pockmarked and splintered from a thirty-cal machine gun that had been set up by a few Insurrectionists in an office twenty meters or sixty-five feet at the other end of hallway branching off to the left, which kept both Mark and the marine with the call-sign of Zulu Seven in cover behind a thick brick mason wall. With the exception of the corrugated steel used in the structure’s three garage doors, the brick mason walls mostly made up the other elements of the warehouse although as Mark had found on the second floor the owner of the place had seen to installing wooden panels to line those walls. Having stayed long enough on the ground level behind the crane while both the wounded marine and his caretaker had been seen to safety aboard one of the two Warthogs, Mark had continued slowly up to the second floor with the other marine coming up behind him. Having cleared the staircase, the two marines had methodically cleared a series of offices flanking the hallway and had found that main hallway had created a T-intersection with a secondary hallway halfway down branching off to the left though before the two could have proceeded the distinctive sound of a thirty-cal opening up forced them behind cover.
The notion they hadn’t encountered anyone else on the floor except as Mark had to remind himself the people they had been sent to neutralize hadn’t been typical colonists or factory workers, but armed Insurgents that hadn’t cared about any of the laws they violated or how many UNSC personnel they killed as long as they forced their intent. Unable to move as a few short bursts from the thirty-cal ripped the wood paneling to shreds, the two marines having taken cover behind the same wall merely glanced at each other before a plan formed between them. Remembering the M301 40mm grenade launcher underslung attachment of his MA5K, Mark reached into his pack to retrieve a 40mm cartridge concussive grenade designed for the M301 and sliding the barrel for the attachment aside had been able to load it. Quietly sliding the barrel back into place along the under-side of the MA5K, he heard a satisfying soft click meaning there had been a snug fit.
Taking a slow deep breath before giving a nod to the other marine to cover him, Mark waited until another burst from the thirty-cal shredded the wood panel before ducking around the corner training his rifle on the machine gun nest improvised from at least one overturned desk to metal filing cabinets. As a second burst from the thirty-cal flew past him, the young Staff Sergeant squeezed back on the secondary trigger provided by the M301 lobbing the grenade in an arc over the improvised barrier to land behind the small gun crew before ducking back into cover. A moment later, the grenade detonated sending out a concussive wave powerful enough to liquify anyone within a six foot radius without causing damage to the surrounding walls. When the thirty-cal had gone silent, Mark quickly looked around the corner to find the bodies of three Insurrectionists either slumped across the improvised barrier or around it with the thirty-cal‘s barrel still smoking from the last rounds fired.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Mark advanced down the hallway with the other marine covering his Team-leader. Having checked the area for booby-traps and even trip-wires or even a loose grenade, the two Marines swept the cluttered office while putting a round each into the heads of the fallen machine gun crew to insure they hadn’t played dead. A screech of tires against concrete broke the silence as an armored van or rather a cheaply made armored car with its improvised armored plating to the steel bars over the windows sped away from the rear of the warehouse, and while it had surprised Mark it only gave him one more to stop them.
“Damn…” Mark swore realizing the Insurrectionist ring leader had managed to get the drop on them. “Zulu Two and Five bring the vehicles around. We’ve got a rabbit on our hands,”
“Hold that thought,” the other marine said. He’d found an old M21 Sniper rifle with a wooden butt-stock and polished barrel complete with a telescoping ranged sight, and had stripped two bandoleers from one of the fallen from the gun crew. “I think I can make that shot. A seven-point six-two round to the engine block, and that armored car rip-off should be disabled,”
“Then do it,” Mark said as the two made their way over to a nearby window with a good view of the get-away van. While the other marine set up the rifle complete with sliding a magazine in place, the young Staff Sergeant kept his weapon ready to provide cover and much to his admiration the other marine with the sniper rifle took the time to readjust the telescoping sight to compensate for the ever-widening distance. Stepping aside as the younger marine angled low enough through the window while resting the barrel on the window sill, the other marine controlled his breathing before lining up the scope on the van’s engine block before slowly squeezing the trigger. Hot gas escaped from the muzzle of the barrel propelling the seven-point six-two millimeter round across the concrete towards the escaping van, and before the report of the rifle had been heard the van rolled to a dead stop. The round had punched through the thin bulkhead surrounding the van’s engine block not that much longer after it had left the barrel.
“Remind me when we get back to buy you a drink,” Mark said, complimenting the young marine’s marksmanship before racing out to the ground floor with the other marine following suit. Taking the stairs in short time, the two marines raced outside to meet the two Warthogs with the rest of their Team before Mark almost leaped into the driver’s seat of the M41 LAAG. In very short time, the two armed Warthogs with their armed crews had swung around the warehouse to come alongside the van. The Gauss hog kept at a distance ahead of the van while Mark brought his Warthog behind it with the triple-barreled M41 Vulcan aimed at the twin rear doors. While some of the marines dismounted taking cover behind the Warthogs, Mark dismounted and slowly made his way towards the driver’s side. Several of the other marines had held the same idea by creeping along the sides of the van before covering appropriate angles of fire if the people in the van hadn’t quite managed to get the picture.
He’d been about to grab the door handle when the door swung open to reveal a rather angry Insurrectionist whom tackled the young Staff Sergeant to the ground or would have, and resulted in both of them struggling on the still warm concrete. Using the Insurrectionist’s momentum, Mark threw the man onto the concrete before the marine brought his knee down on the man’s throat followed by the barrel of the black schemed M6C/SOCOM centimeters from the man’s face.
“Stay!” Mark stated in that rough Drill Instructor tone of his as the man stopped struggling to free himself. One of the other marines had managed to catch up with Mark as the two men had struggled, and managed to confiscate the man’s revolver.
He hadn’t even had to issue the order for his Team to have secured the van as the two Warthogs had pulled up closer prompting the three other armed Insurrectionists inside the van to surrender, and left the other marine to help Mark pull the other man to his feet. With the four Insurrectionists having been restrained with ONI-designed manacles, Mark accompanied by two other marines took the time to open the van’s rear-doors. As the locks fell away and the doors swung open, eight young adults…four young men and four young women whom couldn’t have been older than their early twenties stared back at the marines with expressions of relief. A few of the young women broke out in tears while Mark helped each one out of the van after removing their restraints and after he’d stepped out of the back of the van had nearly been knocked off his feet by one of the young women hugging him.
“It’s alright…” he’d say, a few times to console the young women as she clung to him as if she hadn’t been able to believe they’d been rescued. His own arms went around her, either out of the notion he’d been a father for a few years or that he’d felt that little human gesture might have made the world to her. “You’re safe now. Easy…breath,”
“You can’t get away with this! You ruined a good business…” the ring-leader began before Mark approached the man with the young woman holding onto him as if she’d felt Mark had been a figment of her imagination.
“Say another rash word, and I’ll disarm you again,” Mark threatened while holding his M6C/SOCOM angled between the man’s legs.
* * * * * *
After the report had been made to the BlackCat Operators in orbit to be relayed to those aboard the Prowler that the Operation had been a success with the trafficking ring having been neutralized, Mark had made sure the young adults had been seen to. Their health, mental state and even state of nutrition had been a priority as no one on Mark’s Team had wanted to sedate anyone or to have them believe the worst had transpired. Roughly half an hour later after the darkened hull of the BlackCat Subprowler had set down gently on the open concrete lot behind the warehouse, a massive cargo ramp descended allowing Mark with the Warthogs and the extra passengers to board. As soon as everything and everyone had been secured, the Subprowler had taken off leaving for orbit and on a random course back to the Prowler. While waiting for their pick-up, Mark with another marine had returned to the warehouse on foot and had confiscated the thirty-cal machine gun with the ammunition. The marine that had taken out the van’s engine block had opted to keep the M21 Sniper Rifle he’d found, but while the Team had confiscated a few of the Insurrectionists’ heavier weapons the safety of the young adults that would have been sold elsewhere had meant the operation had been a rather successful one.
