Sunday, January 16, 2011
Spartan Bruce-673 VS The Moa
Though he was exceptional at stealth missions Spartan Bruce-673 was the best at one thing. He had the perfect tan. An Active Camouflage generating device on the back of his MJOLINR Power Armor gave him the ability to become invisible. Bruce was the first to personally modify this armor ability. He used a two layered camouflage generating tweak that allowed the armor to disappear but left his body completely visible. This gave no tactical advantage in battle. Unless you except Bruce's argument that no Spartan should go in to battle with out perfectly bronzed abs.
"Bruce. Get those goddamn ostriches out of the camp!"
"They're called Moa. Sir,"Bruce corrected his squad leader.
"No they are are called breakfast. And if another one of those squawking bastards ruins my nap I'll have your ass for breakfast."
The squad leader was always a little cranky when he missed his nap time.
"Sir, a Spartan's duty is to protect our forest friends."
"Bruce a Spartan's duty is to finish the fight. Now finish off those fucking Ostriches. That's an order."
"Yes, Sir,"Bruce sighed.
With Bruce's training he could easily sneak up and gut the troublesome Moa one by one. And he could just as easily plant a 7.62mm round through the skull of each one of them before the flock had even a second to react. Instead he confiscated a flat bed truck and figured he would herd the flock out of the valley.
This wasn't a fire fight mission so Bruce happily set his Active Camouflage to tan mode, even if it was a little cloudy. He flipped the visor up on his helmet, slicked the hair out of his face, lit a cigarette, and took off in the flat bed. He had no knowledge of Moa behavior in fact Bruce had never herded anything in his life. Never the less he drove down towards the river where the Moa were often seen drinking under the shelter of a bridge.
He was in luck the Moa flock was eating along the side of the road only minutes from camp. Bruce hit the truck lights and gunned the engine hoping he could scare the flock in to a dead panic run straight east out of the valley. The flock split running every direction but east.
Bruce yelled,"No you stupid birds," and honked while pointing east."That way!"
Unfortunately one Moa took his advice and quickly darted east. Which placed it directly under the flat bed tire with a loud thud noise. Bruce slammed on the breaks. Dust kicked in to the air.
He got out of the truck and looked around baffled. The Moa had only run about 30 feet before the flock had collectively stopped. One was already happily pecking at something in the dirt. A pair of Moas looked in Bruce's general direction and squawked defiantly. Bruce looked back at the pair lit another cigarette and puffed on it letting the smooth relaxing tobacco wash over his body. He smoked American Spirits which had the strong refreshing smoke of tobacco treated with only natural additives.
"Are you looking at me?"
One of the pair of Moas dug its face in to the ground with complete disinterest. The other squawked back at him. Or maybe at the truck. Or maybe at nothing. Moa can be profoundly stupid.
"No bird insults a Spartan," ran through Bruce's head as he charged the Moa pair, cigarette clenched in teeth. Bruce leaped in to the air arms out ready to do (something?) to the flightless birds.
The Moa on the right with a glint of mischief in it's eye lifted it's head up to reveal what it had been digging around for. A plasma grenade. The Moa's prehensile beak easily primed the grenade. But the Moa's offensive maneuver was ill timed as Bruce was already milliseconds from delivering a crippling mid air haymaker to the Moa's neck.
A plasma trail streaked across Bruce's vision as the grenade was knocked from the Moa's mouth, and flew back in to the ditch along the side of the road. Bruce had three seconds to run before the timer on the plasma grenade triggered. He utilized that ample escape time to sock the other Moa in the gut which really didn't hurt the Moa all that much.
The Moa looked over at Bruce. It only managed half a squawk before The plasma grenade detonated funneling a brilliant blue explosion along the sides of the ditch. The concussive force blasted Bruce and the Moas across the field.
Having sustained only a few casualties the Moa flock tactically retreated east to another valley where they had stashed a back up weapons cache.
The MJOLINR armor protected Bruce from most of the damage. He sustained only a few minor burns that occurred when the visor on his helmet automatically went down snapping the cigarette in to his face. The Active Camouflage generator also took a little damage. It would be at least days before he could tan again.
This would not be Bruce's last wound in battle, but it would be his last mission for Delta Squad. A week later he was transferred to Lance's Squad.