A cluster of about three Elites began pointing to the hills and yelling out in their alien language. My cover is blown, thought Weathers. The Elites signaled to another group of aliens on the opposite end of the valley, and they began to approach his hiding spot from both angles. Realizing their comrade was in danger, the Marines refocused their gunfire on them, but they only took out one in six, and he had already been wounded and weak. His lifeless body was quickly forgotten as his brothers pursued Weathers. Weathers figured he could take out about two or three of them before having to resort to close combat tactics. As plasma fire whizzed all around him, Weathers aimed and squeezed the trigger twice. Two Elites fell. He rotated his gun and sent the head of another Elite flying. They were close now, three of them, and a sniper rifle was not sufficient for close combat. Weathers abandoned his rifle, pulling out twin .50 caliber Desert Eagles from their holsters. Weathers loved these guns, not because the bullet packed enough punch to easily penetrate any alien shield created to date, but because they made a tiny explosion once lodged into the victim's body. Two well placed shots and one of the Elites tumbled head over heels, the exploding bullets making huge voids in his abdomen and right arm. He lay at the Marine's feet, a bloody blue mess, and Weather's could see the slushy terrain through his body. Two left. Weathers ducked and dodged, barely avoiding an array of plasma fire, and unloaded his clip on the closest Elite. The Elite stumbled, but continued toward him, his left shoulder popping from the small explosion and leaving his arm, still twitching, on the ground below. Weathers stood his ground. At the last second, the Elite let out a roar of defeat and his body fell at the Marine's feet, spraying blue blood over his shoes.
Weathers expertly released the empty clips from the two handguns and they fell to the ground. The next Elite was closing in on him and he had also run out of ammo, but was wielding the alien blade in its place. Weathers unclipped a fragmentation grenade from his belt and plucked off the pin with his thumb. Wait for it, wait for it, he thought as the Elite ran him down, a look of pure evil in his alien eyes. Weathers could see the creature's mandibles quivering and he watched as his armored claw, clenching the blade, rose up into the air, ready to strike. The Elite jutted his head forward right before contact and opened his mouth in a roar. Weathers had expected this, as it was a common act of their kind in battle. Displaying lightning quick speed and agility, he sidestepped the charging Elite and shoved the fragmentation grenade down his throat, muffling his war cry. The Elite stumbled and fell, his blade coming down on air as Weathers jumped to the side and rolled behind the rock that had provided him cover earlier. A deafening explosion could be heard as the grenade detonated. Weathers covered his head as dirt, blue blood, and pieces of Elite flesh rained down on him. He spotted the Elite's dagger lying before him and pocketed it, figuring it would come in good use. He looked up and diverted his gaze to the valley below. There was still a fight to be won.
The Marines had fought hard, but they were simply outnumbered and the Covenant were of a more powerful race. Two Marines were left, fighting for their lives among the dead. There were seven Elites still alive and they were fighting relentlessly, as if they were going against a group of one hundred. They had no mercy for the humans and would surely take the opportunity to kick them while they were down. It seemed hopeless to Weathers, but wait....
Weathers broke out into a run, descending down the hill, dodging plasma fire from the Elites who had spotted him. Weathers did not stop until he reached the downed drop ship, whose blazing flames had diminished since the beginning of the battle. He waved through the thick smoke and eyed the side door of the craft that was labeled "Equipment." If his memory served him well, what he sought should be here. This part of the ship had not been damaged and Weathers opened the compartment with ease. He shifted through the supplies that lay inside and came upon what he was looking for. The ML24 Heavy Duty Rocket Launcher, already loaded with two rockets. He quickly shouldered the newly acquired weapon and slowly approached the edge of the ship.
Crouching on one knee, Weathers rounded the corner of the aircraft and aimed into the cluster of Elites. While he had been fetching the rocket launcher, one of the two had been terminated, as Weathers could now see. There was no time to think about that and, once Weathers was sure of his shot, he fired the rocket and dove for cover. The rocket hit the middle Elite square in the chest, puncturing halfway through his body before detonating. The explosion was big, releasing a huge ball of fire and a blast that sent five Elites flying in all directions. One screaming body was propelled directly toward Weathers and he ducked just in time and heard a sickening crunch as the hull of the ship suddenly stopped the lifeless form. Bodies of Elites fell all around him and he could hear bones and cartilage breaking from the impact. One Elite landed right in front of him, his body burned to a crisp, his flesh still sizzling.
The remaining Marine, who had been smart enough to find cover during the blast, yelled out in joy and began to run toward Weathers, a look of relief on his face. "Watch out, Marine!" Weathers heard his own voice yell as a surviving Elite, enraged by the recent events, shot plasma fire furiously in their direction. Three plasma bullets hit and a look of pain, fear, and finally realization appeared on the Marine's face as he fell to the ground, blood bubbling up and out of his mouth. The Elite continued to fire and Weathers was struck in his side and he could feel and smell his skin and flesh burn. He swallowed his pain and focused on survival.
Weathers rolled out of the way of further plasma fire and grabbed the rocket launcher, aimed it, and fired. Before the Elite could even react, the rocket made contact with his head and blew him into a million pieces. An airborne piece of Elite flesh slapped against Weathers' cheek and he wiped it away in disgust, his hand now covered in blue alien blood.
Weathers stood up slowly, his side aching. He looked over the plasma wound briefly. Although it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced before, it didn't seem to be life threatening. Using his radio, he contacted the drop ship that hand flown him in. "Come in DarkStar 618. This is Sergeant Weathers. Prepare for pick up. The enemy threat has been eliminated and the area is clear. I....I'm the only one that made it."
"Roger, that," came the muffled reply through the headset. "Approaching your position. Sarge, we found something. Something unbelievable. If it gets in to the Elites hand, they could eliminate the human race. I'll brief you after pick-up."
Looking around, Weathers saw that the battle was over. But the war had just begun.