itszutak
May 18th, 2008, 05:49 PM
NOTE: This is a friend's fanfic for Halo. He asked me to post it here for criticism. I like it, but I'd like to know how others feel about it.
It actually has an original premise, despite the title.
It can be found, at least what has been written so far, here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4010899/1/The_Battle_of_Earth
Here's the first chapter, if you're lazy. It starts to pick up at around chapter three, in my opinion:
1426 Hours, 23 October, 2552
UNSC Orbital Platform Cairo
In geosynchronous orbit above Earth
Staff Sergeant Avis “Hugh” Hughie stood in front of the slight 27x15 inch mirror that was bolted to one of the four gray metal walls that made up his quarters, wondering what to wear. On the simple rack he slept on located on the opposite side of the small room, resting on top of the tightly drawn sheets, two outfits were laid out: his midnight blue Marine dress uniform with red trim, sky blue trousers and ceremonial white hat; the other his olive drab combat gear complete with matching helmet and hard, dark leather combat boots. Normally it was easy to guess which one he was supposed to wear when going out, but the way things had been going lately, what he wore when he associated with his fellow soldiers was as blurred as anything else during the war.
Ever since the Covenant had found and destroyed Reach—the United Nations Space Command’s biggest military outpost and shipyard—almost two months ago, every man, woman and child on Earth had been waiting with bated breath for when they would be next. UNSC reports to the media had tried to deny it like they had in the past (up until last year, everyone had thought humanity was beating the Covenant) but most people knew the truth: Earth was the only planet mankind had left, and it was only a matter of time before the Covenant found them and humanity’s last stand would be fought to the death.
Deciding that standing in front of the mirror staring at himself half naked wasn’t going to make his decision any easier, Avis spun on his heel and walked to another wall, this one hosting a sink and a small walled off area that was supposed to be a shower. The showerhead had fallen off almost as soon as Avis had placed his oversized mailbag that contained all his possessions on the floor, so he’d had to improvise. He’d taken a funnel from the mess kitchens a few decks below, taped some straws to the sides and thrown others in the center before capping it with fast-sealing permacrete. Once it had dried he’d removed the straws so water could flow through the holes. Probably not the most permanent solution, and the water had looked a little discolored ever since, but he’d figured Hell, it’s better than stinking up the place. And it does work.
He filled the sink with water before dunking his whole head in, letting the cool liquid mold to accommodate his cranium that was topped off with close-cropped brown hair. While the quarters aboard the Cairo were hardly five-star, a Marine only needed housing here to have a place to bunk down for the night when they weren’t on a mission. It could’ve been worse; were he not a platoon leader, he would’ve been sharing the space with more than thirty other men.
Besides, the Cairo wasn’t exactly designed to be the Ritz.
The only reason Reach had lasted as long as it had was that it had been protected by orbital platforms, upon each of which was a massive Magnetic Accelerator Cannon (MAC) gun. These devices ranged in size, from smaller versions used as long rifles by foot soldiers and larger ones that were placed on UNSC vessels to the behemoths on the platforms. One round from those giants was enough to completely deplete the shields protecting a massive Covenant flagship and gut it stem to stern—a clean kill. Earth’s orbital platforms consisted of the latest in technology and the largest MAC guns ever conceived. With a few hundred orbiting Earth, the Covenant would be hard pressed to get even close to the planet.
In theory, at least.
Avis emerged from the water, dried his face, and went to sit in the chair that was obviously designed to be somewhat comfortable but failed in every regard. He breathed in deeply, almost so it sounded like a huge sigh, and put his head in his hands, blocking out the somewhat claustrophobia-inspiring room. Through the darkness this created a collection of images pulled up from the past came swirling around, very blurry yet still there. They were mainly of friends he had lost, those both in uniform and without, and once again he was reminded of the billions and billions of dead this war had cost…on both sides.
Still, as dire as humanity’s situation was, there was hope, and it resided in the Spartans. Their origin shrouded in myth, these super-soldiers were the only humans able to take the fight to the Covenant and win time and time again; the only ones the Covenant feared. With the pinnacle of technology both in their armor and their bodies, these men and women had proven the Covenant could be defeated.
But they were gone now; sacrificed to protect humanity from the alien onslaught. Rumor was most of them had bought the farm at Reach, and there were also rumors a couple were in the deep reaches of space doing what they did best. However, as far as the majority of the UNSC was concerned, only one remained…their leader, the infamous Master Chief.
Which, actually, was the reason Avis had to pick a uniform anyway. Apparently when things had hit the fan on Reach, Captain Jacob Keyes had escaped into space with his ship, Pillar of Autumn. The staff sergeant didn’t know what had happened next, only that out of nowhere the Master Chief and another soldier, Sergeant Major Avery Johnson, had appeared on another ship, the frigate Gettysburg, supposedly destroyed at Reach. What’s more, everyone on the Pillar of Autumn had apparently been killed, leaving only two men to receive the heroic awards they deserved…the ceremony for which Avis was attending with the rest of his platoon.
His conundrum lay in the fact that he didn’t know whether to follow tradition and go in his dress blues or follow the High Alert order that had been in place since the Chief’s return and get his combat gear. His superiors had neglected to clarify, and when he’d asked his CO, First Lieutenant Burrier, the man had laughed and said “You figure it out Avis. The Corps trained your brain for a reason.”
He checked his watch, saw he only had about half an hour until the ceremony started, and sighed. The real problem was what he wore his entire platoon had to wear, or they’d just look stupid and poorly organized. And that’s not how he wanted his men represented. Each had proven himself in combat a dozen times over, and they’d only done that through the bonds of unit cohesion they’d learned together while going through Boot. So he’d be damned if they were going to show up to such a prestigious event without being as coordinated as they were attacking a group of Covenant Elites.
Choosing orders over tradition, he walked over to his bed and pushed a button over the flimsy headboard, activating an intercom system. “Sergeant Feinst!” he barked.
A moment later a younger voice came on. “Yes sir, Staff Sergeant!” he yelled back. Avis could just imagine the young freckle-faced soldier standing at attention where the platoon was, every other man waiting to hear what he said. He had to admit, it was quite the power-trip. “Have the men assembled and ready to go outside your barracks ASAP. The award ceremony is about to start.”
“Uniform of the day sir?” the young Marine asked, and Avis knew every man in the platoon would cheer at the answer. Dress blues weren’t the most comfortable things in the galaxy.
“Combat gear. Orders are orders; we’re on high alert and we’re going to look like it. Staff Sergeant Hughie out.”
“Yes sir.”
When the PA clicked off Avis proceeded to pull on his pants that, despite being heavily armored—especially at the thighs, shins and calves—were still fairly light and slipped on like a glove. Next came a light t-shirt, his Kevlar vest and his combat jacket that consisted of two layers of thin Kevlar with a metal plate in between. He then strapped on his thick olive socks, the hard leather boots, and his black gloves. Lastly he slammed his helmet down on his head, chin straps tucked into the helmet itself, as it was a formal event and frankly, it was just a lot more comfortable that way. The only thing he was missing to complete the image was his MA5B assault rifle, but that was tucked away under his rack, ready to be called into service to defend humanity once again. With nothing more to announce his departure then a final glance at himself in the mirror, he left, slamming the door behind him.
The Cairo was comprised of one hundred and seventy-seven decks, woven together intricately. These decks were mainly rectangular shaped, as the MAC gun was so large it bisected the entire platform and then stretched another two point four kilometers out into space. The lower forty were devoted entirely to housing the Marines on board, the next twenty to visiting personnel, thirty after that belonged to the Naval officers permanently assigned to running the platform, and the rest consisted of various departments—the bridge, engineering, maintenance, so on and so forth. Avis’s platoon was quartered on deck one hundred twenty, but his men were on the other side of the station—as far as you could go without being stuck in vacuum. Still, since the Cairo was also shaped somewhat like an upside-down pyramid—the lower decks being less wide than the upper ones—the walk was fairly short. Within minutes he’d turned a corner and found First Platoon—his platoon—waiting for him.
The thirty-nine men had lined up in nineteen rows of two, with Sergeant Feinst at its head. Like Avis they were all dressed in full combat gear (minus their weapons). They had been chatting in low voices, but as soon as Avis rounded the corner they snapped to attention. “Ten-hut!” Feinst yelled. All the men tightened their arms to their sides and straightened immediately.
“At ease,” Avis said, and all at once the men folded their arms behind their backs and put their feet shoulder’s width apart. For a moment he gazed upon them with a stern eye, but then he smiled. Maybe not warmly, but the men still knew he meant it. “Follow me, men. Keep in formation.”
Hundreds of lifts zipped around the Cairo, but only a few were large enough for all of First Platoon to use. By the time they found an available lift, rose to the thirtieth deck—where the bridge was located—and stepped out onto the platform they had been ordered to watch the ceremony from, it was almost time to start.
The bridge was shaped like a trapezoid and had two levels. The shorter end of the lower level was where the reinforced titanium-A door that led to the command center opened, and on the opposite side a giant glass window was all that there was. The lower level was dotted with holographic displays where tactical data was displayed in real time as the naval personnel that worked at each station interpreted it and relayed orders as appropriate. The upper level was merely a continuous platform that circled the lower one, and on a normal day it would’ve been very scarcely used, maybe for some grad students from the Lunar Naval Academy doing field observations for a thesis paper.
Today, however, the upper level was packed with Marines attending the celebration. It seemed Avis had made the right choice; all the soldiers he saw were dressed in their combat gear as well. Even more Marines stood below, ringing the bridge but careful not to interrupt the servicemen on duty as they did their work. There were only a few naval officers, and they had clustered together in their white dress uniforms as if they were afraid of the Marine green. Still, Avis recognized Lord Terrence Hood standing slightly above the rest of the squids on top of a small rise that spread across the entire floor. His bald head brilliantly reflected the lights hanging overhead, as did the plethora of medals gleaming from his chest. There were deep wrinkles in his face, and Avis thought he detected a look of pain in his eyes, which he only knew were brown because a hovering camera—which he had heard was broadcasting the ceremony all over the planet—was magnifying his image on one of the holographic displays. Yet, despite all that, Lord Hood emitted this sense of confidence that told Avis the man would not let humanity go extinct. Not on his watch.
There were no seats on either level, so Avis spent a quick minute rearranging the men so that the shorter platoon members stood in front in order for everyone to get a good view. One of his greenest and smallest, a bright-eyed boy called Private James “Soda” Suda, turned to him and asked “Nearly time, sir?”
Just as Avis nodded a horn sounded and he heard the door to the bridge open with a small hiss, though he couldn’t see it. Immediately the room was filled with deafening cheers and applause, and it wasn’t a second later that the two men entered.
Private Suda gasped. Avis didn’t blame him; he was doing the same thing internally.
Sergeant Major Avery Johnson, because he was the one closer to where Avis’s platoon was watching from, was the one he saw first. His dark skin seemed to glow with fiery passion for war. His dress uniform was tailored to perfection, with not a wrinkle nor a loose strand, and the glint in his eye more than reiterated the point that he would rather be out killing the enemy than going through some frou-frou awards ceremony.
Then Avis saw him, Master Chief Petty Officer 117. More than half a meter taller than Johnson, he walked on the Sergeant Major’s left, iridescent green armor marked with dinks and scratches from the countless hard battles. The armor covered his whole body, so it was impossible to tell what he looked like under it or what the expression on his face was. But like Lord Hood, just his demeanor gave off an aura that reassured everyone in the room everything was going to be alright.
The two joined Lord Hood, the three saluted, and with the clapping dying down the ceremony began. It was very informal; as each medal was given Admiral Hood gave a quick speech. Once the Chief and Johnson were done and young woman stepped forward. Avis hadn’t made out her name when Lord Hood announced it, but a quick mutter between two Marines next to him told him what he needed to know.
“Is that who I think it is Gunny?”
“Yep. I guess Captain Keyes’s legacy lives on in Miranda.”
Avis smiled and clapped with the rest of them when Miranda Keyes received her father’s posthumous award. Then almost immediately, the atmosphere changed.
A holopad that was elevated to shoulder height warmed and revealed an AI. She was slender, with shoulder-length hair and a purple body that seemed to be streaming with numerical data. She motioned to Lord Hood, and then to the holographic display immediately behind him, which changed to show…Avis couldn’t believe it.
He was looking at a Covenant battle group. And it was heading for Earth.
It actually has an original premise, despite the title.
It can be found, at least what has been written so far, here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4010899/1/The_Battle_of_Earth
Here's the first chapter, if you're lazy. It starts to pick up at around chapter three, in my opinion:
1426 Hours, 23 October, 2552
UNSC Orbital Platform Cairo
In geosynchronous orbit above Earth
Staff Sergeant Avis “Hugh” Hughie stood in front of the slight 27x15 inch mirror that was bolted to one of the four gray metal walls that made up his quarters, wondering what to wear. On the simple rack he slept on located on the opposite side of the small room, resting on top of the tightly drawn sheets, two outfits were laid out: his midnight blue Marine dress uniform with red trim, sky blue trousers and ceremonial white hat; the other his olive drab combat gear complete with matching helmet and hard, dark leather combat boots. Normally it was easy to guess which one he was supposed to wear when going out, but the way things had been going lately, what he wore when he associated with his fellow soldiers was as blurred as anything else during the war.
Ever since the Covenant had found and destroyed Reach—the United Nations Space Command’s biggest military outpost and shipyard—almost two months ago, every man, woman and child on Earth had been waiting with bated breath for when they would be next. UNSC reports to the media had tried to deny it like they had in the past (up until last year, everyone had thought humanity was beating the Covenant) but most people knew the truth: Earth was the only planet mankind had left, and it was only a matter of time before the Covenant found them and humanity’s last stand would be fought to the death.
Deciding that standing in front of the mirror staring at himself half naked wasn’t going to make his decision any easier, Avis spun on his heel and walked to another wall, this one hosting a sink and a small walled off area that was supposed to be a shower. The showerhead had fallen off almost as soon as Avis had placed his oversized mailbag that contained all his possessions on the floor, so he’d had to improvise. He’d taken a funnel from the mess kitchens a few decks below, taped some straws to the sides and thrown others in the center before capping it with fast-sealing permacrete. Once it had dried he’d removed the straws so water could flow through the holes. Probably not the most permanent solution, and the water had looked a little discolored ever since, but he’d figured Hell, it’s better than stinking up the place. And it does work.
He filled the sink with water before dunking his whole head in, letting the cool liquid mold to accommodate his cranium that was topped off with close-cropped brown hair. While the quarters aboard the Cairo were hardly five-star, a Marine only needed housing here to have a place to bunk down for the night when they weren’t on a mission. It could’ve been worse; were he not a platoon leader, he would’ve been sharing the space with more than thirty other men.
Besides, the Cairo wasn’t exactly designed to be the Ritz.
The only reason Reach had lasted as long as it had was that it had been protected by orbital platforms, upon each of which was a massive Magnetic Accelerator Cannon (MAC) gun. These devices ranged in size, from smaller versions used as long rifles by foot soldiers and larger ones that were placed on UNSC vessels to the behemoths on the platforms. One round from those giants was enough to completely deplete the shields protecting a massive Covenant flagship and gut it stem to stern—a clean kill. Earth’s orbital platforms consisted of the latest in technology and the largest MAC guns ever conceived. With a few hundred orbiting Earth, the Covenant would be hard pressed to get even close to the planet.
In theory, at least.
Avis emerged from the water, dried his face, and went to sit in the chair that was obviously designed to be somewhat comfortable but failed in every regard. He breathed in deeply, almost so it sounded like a huge sigh, and put his head in his hands, blocking out the somewhat claustrophobia-inspiring room. Through the darkness this created a collection of images pulled up from the past came swirling around, very blurry yet still there. They were mainly of friends he had lost, those both in uniform and without, and once again he was reminded of the billions and billions of dead this war had cost…on both sides.
Still, as dire as humanity’s situation was, there was hope, and it resided in the Spartans. Their origin shrouded in myth, these super-soldiers were the only humans able to take the fight to the Covenant and win time and time again; the only ones the Covenant feared. With the pinnacle of technology both in their armor and their bodies, these men and women had proven the Covenant could be defeated.
But they were gone now; sacrificed to protect humanity from the alien onslaught. Rumor was most of them had bought the farm at Reach, and there were also rumors a couple were in the deep reaches of space doing what they did best. However, as far as the majority of the UNSC was concerned, only one remained…their leader, the infamous Master Chief.
Which, actually, was the reason Avis had to pick a uniform anyway. Apparently when things had hit the fan on Reach, Captain Jacob Keyes had escaped into space with his ship, Pillar of Autumn. The staff sergeant didn’t know what had happened next, only that out of nowhere the Master Chief and another soldier, Sergeant Major Avery Johnson, had appeared on another ship, the frigate Gettysburg, supposedly destroyed at Reach. What’s more, everyone on the Pillar of Autumn had apparently been killed, leaving only two men to receive the heroic awards they deserved…the ceremony for which Avis was attending with the rest of his platoon.
His conundrum lay in the fact that he didn’t know whether to follow tradition and go in his dress blues or follow the High Alert order that had been in place since the Chief’s return and get his combat gear. His superiors had neglected to clarify, and when he’d asked his CO, First Lieutenant Burrier, the man had laughed and said “You figure it out Avis. The Corps trained your brain for a reason.”
He checked his watch, saw he only had about half an hour until the ceremony started, and sighed. The real problem was what he wore his entire platoon had to wear, or they’d just look stupid and poorly organized. And that’s not how he wanted his men represented. Each had proven himself in combat a dozen times over, and they’d only done that through the bonds of unit cohesion they’d learned together while going through Boot. So he’d be damned if they were going to show up to such a prestigious event without being as coordinated as they were attacking a group of Covenant Elites.
Choosing orders over tradition, he walked over to his bed and pushed a button over the flimsy headboard, activating an intercom system. “Sergeant Feinst!” he barked.
A moment later a younger voice came on. “Yes sir, Staff Sergeant!” he yelled back. Avis could just imagine the young freckle-faced soldier standing at attention where the platoon was, every other man waiting to hear what he said. He had to admit, it was quite the power-trip. “Have the men assembled and ready to go outside your barracks ASAP. The award ceremony is about to start.”
“Uniform of the day sir?” the young Marine asked, and Avis knew every man in the platoon would cheer at the answer. Dress blues weren’t the most comfortable things in the galaxy.
“Combat gear. Orders are orders; we’re on high alert and we’re going to look like it. Staff Sergeant Hughie out.”
“Yes sir.”
When the PA clicked off Avis proceeded to pull on his pants that, despite being heavily armored—especially at the thighs, shins and calves—were still fairly light and slipped on like a glove. Next came a light t-shirt, his Kevlar vest and his combat jacket that consisted of two layers of thin Kevlar with a metal plate in between. He then strapped on his thick olive socks, the hard leather boots, and his black gloves. Lastly he slammed his helmet down on his head, chin straps tucked into the helmet itself, as it was a formal event and frankly, it was just a lot more comfortable that way. The only thing he was missing to complete the image was his MA5B assault rifle, but that was tucked away under his rack, ready to be called into service to defend humanity once again. With nothing more to announce his departure then a final glance at himself in the mirror, he left, slamming the door behind him.
The Cairo was comprised of one hundred and seventy-seven decks, woven together intricately. These decks were mainly rectangular shaped, as the MAC gun was so large it bisected the entire platform and then stretched another two point four kilometers out into space. The lower forty were devoted entirely to housing the Marines on board, the next twenty to visiting personnel, thirty after that belonged to the Naval officers permanently assigned to running the platform, and the rest consisted of various departments—the bridge, engineering, maintenance, so on and so forth. Avis’s platoon was quartered on deck one hundred twenty, but his men were on the other side of the station—as far as you could go without being stuck in vacuum. Still, since the Cairo was also shaped somewhat like an upside-down pyramid—the lower decks being less wide than the upper ones—the walk was fairly short. Within minutes he’d turned a corner and found First Platoon—his platoon—waiting for him.
The thirty-nine men had lined up in nineteen rows of two, with Sergeant Feinst at its head. Like Avis they were all dressed in full combat gear (minus their weapons). They had been chatting in low voices, but as soon as Avis rounded the corner they snapped to attention. “Ten-hut!” Feinst yelled. All the men tightened their arms to their sides and straightened immediately.
“At ease,” Avis said, and all at once the men folded their arms behind their backs and put their feet shoulder’s width apart. For a moment he gazed upon them with a stern eye, but then he smiled. Maybe not warmly, but the men still knew he meant it. “Follow me, men. Keep in formation.”
Hundreds of lifts zipped around the Cairo, but only a few were large enough for all of First Platoon to use. By the time they found an available lift, rose to the thirtieth deck—where the bridge was located—and stepped out onto the platform they had been ordered to watch the ceremony from, it was almost time to start.
The bridge was shaped like a trapezoid and had two levels. The shorter end of the lower level was where the reinforced titanium-A door that led to the command center opened, and on the opposite side a giant glass window was all that there was. The lower level was dotted with holographic displays where tactical data was displayed in real time as the naval personnel that worked at each station interpreted it and relayed orders as appropriate. The upper level was merely a continuous platform that circled the lower one, and on a normal day it would’ve been very scarcely used, maybe for some grad students from the Lunar Naval Academy doing field observations for a thesis paper.
Today, however, the upper level was packed with Marines attending the celebration. It seemed Avis had made the right choice; all the soldiers he saw were dressed in their combat gear as well. Even more Marines stood below, ringing the bridge but careful not to interrupt the servicemen on duty as they did their work. There were only a few naval officers, and they had clustered together in their white dress uniforms as if they were afraid of the Marine green. Still, Avis recognized Lord Terrence Hood standing slightly above the rest of the squids on top of a small rise that spread across the entire floor. His bald head brilliantly reflected the lights hanging overhead, as did the plethora of medals gleaming from his chest. There were deep wrinkles in his face, and Avis thought he detected a look of pain in his eyes, which he only knew were brown because a hovering camera—which he had heard was broadcasting the ceremony all over the planet—was magnifying his image on one of the holographic displays. Yet, despite all that, Lord Hood emitted this sense of confidence that told Avis the man would not let humanity go extinct. Not on his watch.
There were no seats on either level, so Avis spent a quick minute rearranging the men so that the shorter platoon members stood in front in order for everyone to get a good view. One of his greenest and smallest, a bright-eyed boy called Private James “Soda” Suda, turned to him and asked “Nearly time, sir?”
Just as Avis nodded a horn sounded and he heard the door to the bridge open with a small hiss, though he couldn’t see it. Immediately the room was filled with deafening cheers and applause, and it wasn’t a second later that the two men entered.
Private Suda gasped. Avis didn’t blame him; he was doing the same thing internally.
Sergeant Major Avery Johnson, because he was the one closer to where Avis’s platoon was watching from, was the one he saw first. His dark skin seemed to glow with fiery passion for war. His dress uniform was tailored to perfection, with not a wrinkle nor a loose strand, and the glint in his eye more than reiterated the point that he would rather be out killing the enemy than going through some frou-frou awards ceremony.
Then Avis saw him, Master Chief Petty Officer 117. More than half a meter taller than Johnson, he walked on the Sergeant Major’s left, iridescent green armor marked with dinks and scratches from the countless hard battles. The armor covered his whole body, so it was impossible to tell what he looked like under it or what the expression on his face was. But like Lord Hood, just his demeanor gave off an aura that reassured everyone in the room everything was going to be alright.
The two joined Lord Hood, the three saluted, and with the clapping dying down the ceremony began. It was very informal; as each medal was given Admiral Hood gave a quick speech. Once the Chief and Johnson were done and young woman stepped forward. Avis hadn’t made out her name when Lord Hood announced it, but a quick mutter between two Marines next to him told him what he needed to know.
“Is that who I think it is Gunny?”
“Yep. I guess Captain Keyes’s legacy lives on in Miranda.”
Avis smiled and clapped with the rest of them when Miranda Keyes received her father’s posthumous award. Then almost immediately, the atmosphere changed.
A holopad that was elevated to shoulder height warmed and revealed an AI. She was slender, with shoulder-length hair and a purple body that seemed to be streaming with numerical data. She motioned to Lord Hood, and then to the holographic display immediately behind him, which changed to show…Avis couldn’t believe it.
He was looking at a Covenant battle group. And it was heading for Earth.