Snippet #2221256

It was a bloodbath, this battlefield that Dalton found himself fighting on. And, luckily enough, none of the freshest blood appeared to be any of his mens', which only made his day that much more bearable. He kept a curved smile on his face due to the sheer enjoyment he was that they were nearly effortlessly pushing these aliens back from the base. They would know never to attack another human base so long as they lived - if they lived.

Conway, along with his men that were pushing forward through the covenant forces as if they were a knife and the aliens were butter, fired his weapon at the retreating enemies, scoring a few hits along the back of a small grouped-up bunch of grunts, tearing through the canister on the back of one and sending him flying forwards into another, at which point the canister detonated in a beautiful display of plasma fire and ragdoll grunts. God was it a sight to behold. Every alien kill was, or at least the veteran soldier would like to believe so. Serves them right for picking a fight they couldn't handle.

There was still retaliatory fire, but it was very minimal - to the point where Conway didn't even have to bother with hiding behind any of the wrecked Prowlers or Ghosts, he continued forwards, pulling the trigger and letting loose a couple of bursts from the barrel of his Assault Rifle, all of which were accurate and well-placed in the Covy-asses that they were showing. He wasn't too far from what targets he picked, so each round that soared gracefully through the air found its mark without fail. He was only relenting when he had to be, exchanging an empty magazine for a fresh one and popping in the bottom of the weapon, hearing it click in place. After that he'd continue with more bursts almost like a robot programmed to do so.

He was actually so into the killing that when he was about to finish off one more grunt and he ran out of ammo once more, he wasted no time in retrieving his combat knife and gripping it by the blade as he lined it up and gave it a hefty chuck. It would then fly through the air, following the grunt a small distance before he would turn to fire a few purple needles to cover his escape, only to be impaled through the head. Dalton, who had only occasionally thrown a knife out of sheer boredom, was surprised at his own accuracy, but smiled nontheless.

A short jog to the body of the grunt later, he reached down quickly and pulled the knife from the body with a little bit of resistance due to it becoming stuck a bit too far into the unfortunate bastard's head. It was a confirmed kill, and though it was probably one of the more satisfying kills he had made in a while, he wasn't about to ditch his ranged Assault Rifle to see if he was a natural at it. He'd be fine with just calling it luck. And so, once more, he pulled a mag - his last one mind you - off of his person and slammed it into the bottom of his weapon. It was around this time that Braxx had callled his attention.

"Hey Dalton! First Knife Kill!"

Dalton audibly cackled with a laugh. "You might be a second late there, Major." he replied with a wide grin on his face. Of course it was wiped off as a bird-brain decided that it would be a good idea to get in close-range with the Big Bear. Dalton, who had been a witness to Braxx's combat abilities before, honestly feared nothing unfavorable to happen in this situation, and watched as the beaked assailant regretted ever getting in close with the giant, and then watched it die.

"I hate those God damn things"

With the Major victorious in the battle, as Dalton had predicted, the Captain made his way to Braxx with a few quick steps. He looked up to the man quite literally and spoke with that same grin from before. "I'm sure it just left you with another scar to scare the greens with." he chuckled a little bit, seeing as it didn't impede the Major's ability to fight in the least, he figured. "I'm sure you'll get a few of them back before they disappear with their beaks in their asses." with that, the Captain turned back and joined the 'mop-up' that took place for a small time later.

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....

Dalton, the Captain, was not angered that they had just fallen for a trap such as this. No, this plan was actually excellently executed to make it as effective as possible. But he was pissed regardless. Since when did Brutes use strategy - and an effective one at that! If they had done this much earlier, he would be afraid that the human race might not have made it too long in the war, but still, he believed that they could 'bounce back' from this trap, whatever it was. Until the pods that had fallen from the heavens opened with their cargo, Hunters.

"Well spank my ass and call me Charlie....." he muttered to himself.

This was going to be a bloodbath, and this time it would easily be his own mens' blood staining this charred, green snow. Two was bad enough, but with each of the many pods opening, they were going to be slaughtered. They already were! The volley of plasma fire tore through many a marine squad, rendering them unconcious or dead, the latter being the most prominent. "Shit, Major! We need to do something quick!" he shouted over the loud booms and howls of the Hunter fire, each one doing damage in one way or another.