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Remember Reach

Birddog6

Hollowed
Joined
Feb 9, 2021
Messages
7
Points
3
Age
28


Theme
2552, Reach, Near Hill 312
The forest was still, the city skyline in the distance burning still. Kowalski was a young man then- a fresh soldier, his boot camp literally blown apart. He was thrust into service with the absolute minimum of training, and given one single order: Defend Reach.

And thus far- the UNSC had been failing to do so.


Kowalski knew that it was simply a matter of time before his homeworld was overrun, one of the crown jewels of the UNSC destroyed. Earth was next, he knew for sure. The Covenant had been at the war for 30 years almost, almost twice as long as he'd been alive. Billions upon billions of dead from the onslaught of the alien horde. And now, his homeworld, and possibly him, was next.

The Soldiers spoke mostly Hungarian, and other Slavic languages. The Sergeant was Earth-born, and spoke only English with an accent. Kowalski spoke English, unlike some of the other soldiers, who hadn't yet mastered the lingua franca of the UNSC.

Kowalski stepped ahead, the lights of the Warthog illuminating the walk before him. Night vision was in short-supply, and Kowalski was forced to endure without, for the time being. Besides, as far as he knew, the Covenant also did not particularly lend themselves to use night vision. Kowalski walked as quiet as he could, trying to drown out the plasma fire and the rocket fire in the background. Civilian transports were away, sent forth into space. It was better for him not to know. Maybe his family was on there. Maybe they weren't. Stopping to think about it was a useless endeavor, a fruitless exercise in hope.

Their patrol stopped, the pointman signaling for the column to cease movement. The air grew still as the Marines took a knee, outboard security facing the invisible threat that they had not seen yet. And then he heard it- guttural voices from the trees, angry and spiteful. They had stumbled upon an enemy patrol. The warthog's lights shut off, and the engine died. The machine gun didn't need the engine to operate, and the Gunner swiveled the turret to the west.

The Sergeant gave three taps on his helmet, forming a hasty ambush. Kowalski laid down in the brush, face first. He heard the twigs breaking, guttural voices of Elites in their disgusting speech coming closer. Multiple, and then the high-pitched voices of the grunts. This was his first engagement. He'd only faced the enemy in simulations, heard the recordings and watched the tapes in basic. It seemed so foreign to him at the time that he was actually going to be in combat at some point. The thought never crossed his mind, he thought, for some reason, it would be someone else.

And as the twigs snapped closer and closer, the carelessness of the grunts compared to the well-footed Elites became apparent. Kowalski looked down at his rifle, placing a hand over the ammo display to conceal the light. The Elites were probably searching in the direction of the lights, intent on ambushing them as much as they were planning to ambush them now.

Ambushes, by doctrine and practice, were preferably conducted with a salvo opening of explosives, or from a closed bolt weapon system. Kowalski heard the soft clicks of the pins of the grenades, and he waited for them to be let loose. Gentle thuds were the last bit of quiet of the night-

Then a resounding series of explosion, ripping the earth around him apart, sending shrapnel, rocks, and dirt everywhere. He felt it scratch against his helmet, and he knew it was somewhat safe to rise to a knee, and engage. He came up, terrified beyond all belief, but determined all the same. The ringing in his ears faded after a moment, before he saw it. An ugly creature, with a mask over it's ashen, burnt-like face. It was bleeding already, and turned a green-tinted pistol at him. Kowalski watched it move, almost in slow-motion.

Kowalski opened fire, tearing the grunt's body apart with a barrage of gunfire. The grunt fell to the ground, in a pool of brightly-colored blood. The other soldiers pushed forward, encroaching on the enemy. The Elite screamed a terrible roar, from the losses it's squad was suffering. Andor took aim at the blue-tinted monstrority, joining the others in attacking the Elite. The Elite wielded his plasma rifle, firing the rapid-firing rifle, desperate in an attempt to gain the advantage on the ambushing party. A few blasts from a shotgun brought down his shields, and another terrible roar-

He charged, cutting down one of the younger soldiers by activating his wrist-blades. He charged at Kowalski, knocking him to the ground. Desperately, Kowalski fumbled with his rifle, pushing on the Elite trying to stab him with his legs, gaining space.

He emptied the magazine in the Elite's chest, spraying himself with the Elite's blood. He scrambled from under the dying elite, and the rest of the squad joined in, ripping the Elite and the rest of the Covenant to shreds- with losses of their own. The Sergeant stood up, wiping blood from his lip. The Elite had charged him, striking him across the face.

The Sergeant looked around, counting the dead. Five soldiers killed, twelve enemy KIA. Not a good ratio, not a good day. But it was like that all over- Reach wasn't lost, but they were losing. Kowalski looked at the sky, at the battle raging overhead, his planet on fire. And the patrol pushed onwards, stepping over the dead soldiers and covenant. They came to a clearing, their LZ to be transported to a rally point to join an assault on the Covenant.

And in the distance, the shells boomed, and the planet burned. The clearing was littered with dead bodies, Covenant and UNSC alike. Civilians mixed, strewn about, their faces contorted in perpetual terror, their last moments filled with fear and little else. Children were clutched tightly, cold already, blue in the face. Kowalski had no real reconcile, or time to process it all- the lights of the Falcons designated as their transports appeared in the sky, with the Sergeant popping a flare.

And in that red-dull light of the flare, Kowalski saw his people massacred, his world burned, and his innocence lost. Everything before the first time he was in combat was just that- the before and the after. There was no going back, there would be no normality. He turned his head before stepping on the Falcon, observing the covering of the dead. They couldn't take them all, the weight alone was too much. They had to leave the dead where they lay, no burial, no funeral, no memories.

The battle lasted for a few more days, before Kowalski, like many others, were evacuated off-planet. And Reach burned for weeks afterwards.

And Kowalski would never forget.

He would always Remember Reach.

Present Day

Another soldier, a Freelancer, and several others had chastised him for disliking the aliens. Called him a racist. Called him a bigot. As he stood, staring down the improbability of not but a few months after the decades long conflict ended- of the former enemies of humanity itself, not just him, a nation, but an entire species for no other virtue than existing, stood tall.

Kowalski wished they burned their worlds in retribution, and make them suffer the perdition and the weight of their sins. Subjugated them to the same horrors they inflicted onto humanity. He only wished that he had been there to watch High Charity fall, to see it plunge into darkness, killing millions upon millions of them. For every Reach, there were two more, there were dozens of men like Kowalski, angry with no place to go.

He did not agree with, but he understood the URF's point of view sometimes. The UNSC was in bed with the enemy, more or less. He did not trust a single alien, no Elite, no Brute, no Grunt, no Hunter, not a single one. If he had his way, they'd find the nearest airlock and go sight-seeing in space. He hated them more than he hated anything else in his life. A hate that he could not let go of, an all-consuming malice burned within his mortal soul, etched upon his soul. He'd remember what they did.

He stood up, capping the marker. He wrote it clear as he could, black ink on the side of his helmet. It said more than words could ever.

REMEMBER REACH.

Kowalski stepped out of the bunks, a hatred burning through him. Like it always would.
 
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