[center][b]1st Lieutenant Horatio Grainer[/b]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/DMBrivV.png[/img]

[b]Four miles east of the northern pelican crash site, island two. [color=ed1c24]Engaging Covenant Patrol[/color].[/b][/center]

Horatio did his best to muffle his feeble moans, as he attempted to stand on his knees in the shrubbery. His left leg was certainly out for the count, and leaning on it was starting to create spots in his vision. Quietly, he switched to his right knee, though this unaccustomed stance left him feeling a little off balance. 

The Type-25's engines dulled their noise, just as the drop ship's sides opened to reveal a set course menu of Covenant. Six grunts, and one big ugly bastard of an Elite. They hit the ground running, spreading out over the area and checking for hostiles. Horatio remained perfectly still, his M7S poised directly towards the greatest threat: the Elite. He had no hope of downing his target, let alone the six grunts that muttered to each other in their various clown dialects. Still, if he was discovered, then he'd go down fighting. 

[i]Just like so many others.[/i]

A few minutes passed as the patrol continued to check the drop pod's parameter. The Type-25 had slowly started to ascend, obviously having received orders to head elsewhere, but its payload stayed behind. Horatio had managed to steady his breathing to a point that his chest no longer burned with each inhale and exhale, but his heart had picked its pace up by a thousand or so knots, and each reverberating beat was proving a small agony. 

The Elite said something untelligble, in a loud and casual fashion; it obviously wasn't expecting danger. The grunts rounded on their leader, and the group set upon the drop pod. They poked, prodded, chuckled and snorted. Whatever they were up to was beyond Horatio's meagre understanding of the Covenant's cultural habits, but their actions weren't beyond his military prowess. 

He could end this situation here and now, with a good serving of maximum force and a dollop of surprise. The Type-25 finally lifted, and hummed off towards the south, convincing the 1st Lieutenant that his plan bore some merit.

Keeping his M7S poised at his foe with his right hand, his left fell to his waistline, and relieved it of two frag grenades. Needing both hands, he set the M7S down gently on the grass beneath him, and quietly primed the two grenades. Horatio let them cook for a few seconds, and then chucked both of them in quick succession towards the drop pod. He wasn't the greatest thrower, but the explosives landed near enough to where he needed them. 

A grunt looked down at its feet and screamed; the Elite turned with a snarl, but uttered a curse just before the burst of fire and shrapnel tore through the Covenant patrol. 

Horatio scrambled for his M7S, and peered down the sights at a cloud of blue sparkling electricity that stood out from the chaos like a sore thumb; he depressed the trigger. The Elite's shield, already weakened by the blasts, sparked and spluttered in short order. Thanks to Horatio's silenced weapon, the Elite had little idea of where its attacker was shooting from, and resolved to fire its plasma rifle in a circle; trees exploded into bark fragments and the ground was glassed, but the ODST was safe. No plasma came his way.

Horatio kept firing, and finally the Elite's shield gave way, allowing a salvo of rounds to hit it straight in the chest. The alien fell backwards, blood trailing shortly behind. A couple of grunts, survivors of Horatio's grenade salvo, started running off into the trees. Horatio ejected the magazine in his weapon, and quickly reloaded; he sent a trio of bursts towards one of the grunts, and saw it collapse forwards into the grass. However, the second survivor had made the safety of the trees. 

Horatio made to pursue his fleeing enemy, but he fell forwards immediately with an echoing curse. He'd forgotten his left leg.