Halo: Guerrillas In The Mist (No longer being updated)

Chapter 6: Still Living the High Life

Thursday, November 25th

17:00 hours

As they walked, adrenaline still coursed through their veins, giving them a temporary respite from the biting cold. The blood pumped fast through their arteries, desperately trying to keep their extremities at body temperature. What they needed was a warm, windproof shelter, or for the torrent of white to cease its freezing barrage on them. But the weather was a cruel, merciless creature. It kept up its battering force as they once again strolled the broken and deserted streets on New Harmony.

Dmitri pulled up the tactical HUD within his helmet and constantly scanned through the radio frequencies, hoping that someone had either survived, or was coming to help. All he got for his relentless effort was white noise and the crackle of empty static. Disappointed, he nonetheless kept trying, doing his best to keep hope alive. They kept a steady pace as they walked alongside him, trying their best to stop their legs from locking up in the cold. It wouldn’t take much for the snow and wind to wriggle its way in, paralysing them with frostbite.

They had reached their objective in good time, considering the fire fight they had along the way. Shrieks from metal, shearing away from the main building, penetrated the troops and the noise made them all grit their teeth and clench their fists. This building, like their previous hold up, looked unstable and as if with a little help, it could collapse in a heap of rubble. Luckily, its damage was mainly superficial and many of the inside floors and rooms remained intact.

They flicked on their torches and once again began a long ascent up flights and flights of crumbling, concrete stairs. Back in this buildings heyday, you could take the elevator and be at the top floor in mere minutes. This was not the case after heavy fighting. A burst of plasma could easily scythe straight through the wire cable that dangled the compartment above the dark shaft.

Railings fell away as Knight Squad surreptitiously crept up the stairwell, holding onto anything solid as a safety measure. It was a long, long way down if the stairs beneath you fell. The atmosphere was particularly uneasy after their previous encounter with stairs only a few hours before. Every now and then they peeked over the side, with a vice like grip on one of their comrades, to check for any covies stalking them. Content they were not being followed, they trudged onwards before reaching their goal: the eleventh floor.

They filed one by one into the cavernous impact room of the pelican. Their boots crunched as the ice on their grips met the clean white paper that had been thrown around in the crash. Flames were slowly spreading, flickering up curtains and setting furniture alight. They would have to put it out if they were to set up any sort of shelter here.

The pelican had smashed nose first through the glass and steel walls and tumbled onto its back. Lines of fire and friction burns no the carpeted floor showed just how far it had skidded. It had come to a stop only because of a strong central support column. Even so, the cockpit was wrapped around the column like a hand gripping onto it. If the pilot was still in there at the time, all that would be left was a bloody pulp mixed with shards of glass.

Dmitri dropped his SMG to the floor to go and investigate the aircraft. Once there, he wished he’d never set foot inside. The room was bathed in an eerie red glow from the emergency landing lights and across the floor laid six marines. Innards and messy mounds of healing biofoam spilled out onto the floor, puddles of gore surrounding these slouched men. None had survived, at least not for long. From the biofoam and the empty medkits Dmitri could see they had done their best to stay alive, but to no avail.

It was a shame to see good lives, good marines like this, dying in vain. He knew that he wanted to go in peace, with the war long since over, or with his knife deep inside an elite’s stomach. He carefully tip toed over the remains to grab the remains of the medkits and any of the ammo that was left. There was also a small stash of food and drink inside a backpack, stuffed under a seat. It was a bit mushed up but it would have to do. Other than their three day rations they carried in their packs, they wouldn’t find much else to eat.

Dmitri made a quick check to make sure it was safe and noticed it was snarled on a thick cable. He tugged, trying to pull the pelican free but suddenly all the pressure completely loosened. He climbed atop the hull to check but was swept off his feet by the cable, landing face first on the green metal. A window cleaning platform was the most likely reason for the cable. As he regained his balance and tried to stand, the pelican began slowly moving, back out into the cold winter air. Dmitri flapped and grasped at thin air for a handhold as he was dragged out with the pelican. He glanced behind him to see both the cleaning scaffold and the reel of cable plunge down through the sky. The pelican jolted and dropped from the windows.

Dmitri rolled at the last second and managed to grab onto a piece of twisted steel, blown outwards in the explosion. As he gripped on for dear life, he screamed to his comrades for help. The cold was locking his arms and an unbearable muscular pain engulfed his entire body. Nonetheless, he held tight before being thrown a more trustworthy piece of cable from Usain. His arms and legs around it, he swung across to the firm ground like an ape before collapsing, freezing and in pain.

They all quickly set up a small shelter with their roll out mattresses and blankets. A hot cup of coffee and a few fingers of Lopez’s special whiskey calmed them before settling down for the night. Some rations went down well and cured their hunger before they all drifted into a well earned sleep.