This is a fan fiction on Halo
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Galba Claudo System
Oculus Spetimus, Verdun Campaign VI
"Take five Marines, Red Team is moving ahead to take point!" The dense jungle on one side of the track, the broad brown Imeria River on the other. Overhead, two Longsword fighters streaked, followed by four Banshees. Along the road, eight Warthogs and a couple all terrain trucks moved by. Walking around the nose of the parked Blue Team Warthog, the sargeant, or "Booker" as he was called, began drinking from his water pack. So was the rest of Blue Team, including the unfortunate private Arthur Gustavson.
Carrying the MA5B assault rifle, he was stripped down to his body armor, dungarees, olive green overshirt, and army boots, covered in mud and muck. Hanging from his belt were four frag grenades, and a couple ration packs, a combat knife, a pistol, and a couple ammunition clips.
"Why did they call the system Galba Claudo?, nothing Roman!" Rich, a muscular asian man with a short black goatee, spoke as he swatted the mosquito that had landed on his arm.
"Its for the founder, he decided the system needed a very Imperialistic name," the captain, Captain Young, spoke as he moved down from the Gauss Warthog passenger seat.
"Damn the planet, he didn't find much did he?" Rich spoke as he swatted another mosquito.
"Nothing at all, nothing at all," the captain looked around from the ground level. Looking around, Arthur hopped onto the rear of the Gatling Warthog, and looked around. Now reclining against the Warthogs, the Marines rested.
For five seconds.
Screaming down the river from the opposite direction, two of the fork shaped "Apparation" Covenant transports, which began firing the plasma cannons, blowing apart the moving column.
"God damn, move men, into the water!" Booker yelled as the plasma started flying, one bolt blowing apart his Warthog. Jumping off the Warthog, Arthur sprinted into the water, diving under the murky depths, weeds and vines like ghosts touching his skin, eerie. Bursting from the watery depths, the two Covenant ships had opened the hatches into the river. The Blue Team Warthogs were a wreck, so was Red Teams. Pulling out the assault rifle, Arthur opened fire. Bullets rattled along the ship. Piling out, Grunts and Elite, four Jackals from the opposite side, their shields blocking the waters flow. More of the team rose from the water, rifles aimed and firing. Plasma bolts flew from the pistols and rifles, one Elite leading the group, his hand clasped around a energy sword. Pulling out a grenade, Arthur pulled the pin and released. Booker appeared, holding his rifle in one hand, Rich in the other. Rockets appeared, their trails from across the river. Ducking under the water, Arthur pulled out his binoculars. Rising, he peered into them. Four Spartan warriors, handling multiple Jackhammers. Dropping the bionculars, Arthur opened fire again, plasma bolts boiling the water, causing random burns as he moved. To Booker.
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