[Perry] The Flag of Splenderificness

My heart is pounding and my hands are clammy with sweat.

I had to kill a man to get in here. I was lucky though. He was facing away from me, manning a turret and sending a torrent of bullets toward my teammates downrange, keeping them at bay.

A few quick and silent steps brought me into range and I hopped onto his back, yanking him away from the turret. Pulling him down to the ground with my body weight, I grab both sides of his head and wrench. There’s a soft pop and he goes limp.

Collecting the spare ammunition from his corpse, I make my way inside the base.

I’m immediately reminded why it’s not a good idea to do this alone when four members of the enemy team materialize, their armor a menacing blood red.

They’re dazed, slightly disoriented by the transit stun so in the bare second of grace, I lobbed both of my fragmentation grenades into their midst and take off running.

I should have had the layout down pat, after all, isn’t our own base built off of the exact same blueprints?

But I’m running on nerves alone. Cognitive reasoning doesn’t enter into this picture at all and I make a mad dash for any empty corridor as the grenades explode behind me.

That did it.

It’s like kicking a hornet’s nest.

Only instead of friendly and benevolent angry hornets, the Reds boil out of the hallways like Hell’s own demons with guns in their hands, and murder written on their blank and impenetrable visors.

The next minute passes by in a blur of gunfire, grenades and a bunch of very angry men in red armor.

I turn a corner and it’s suddenly there.

The red flag.

It flaps in a nonexistent breeze.

Its redness cannot truly be described. It’s not the red that common folk such as you or I are able to encapsulate and envision, it’s more. Something so much more. It’s the red of life itself, of pride and victory and bikinis on a gorgeous women on hot days at the beach. It’s a red that transcends time and space, passed down from generation to generation in the eternal, ever frightful struggle between the glory of the Blues and the villainy of the dastardly and despicable Reds.

It stands, a glorious flapping symbol of all that is right in the world and it is a travesty, utter travesty that the vile Reds should possess something of such magnificence.

There is more that should be said here. An object of such reverence and awe shouldn’t be rushed, shouldn’t be treated in any kind of haphazard fashion.

Unfortunately, every Red in the canyon is literally howling for my blood and I’ve run out of time.

A quick dash forward and the flag is in my hands, a transient moment of bliss as a Red darts out at me from the next hallway, disgust on his blank visor at the thought of a Blue touching the flag, assault rifle blazing.

My shield takes the brunt of the impact, redlining almost immediately at the tightly clustered impact of bullets. I toss the flag to the left for the moment, unslinging my battle rifle and taking one step forward, smashing the Red in the face with the butt of the gun.

There’s momentary yellow flash as his shields overload from the impact and a quick shot sends a bullet crashing through his visor. I turn to collect the flag as he falls dead and there’s the characteristic tinktink of a fragmentation grenade and I see it, bouncing off the wall and into the room I’m in.

A split second to react.

Tightened grip on the flag.

Take two steps to the corrido-

All thought ends as the grenade explodes in the corner of the room behind me.

The blast sends me hurtling forward into the wall, sending me reeling to the floor with the shock.

It feels like forever before my senses return to normal and the first thing I hear is the high pitched electronic shriek of my suit alarms, signifying that my shields are fully depleted and that I’m exposed.

The flag is still clutched in my hand.

Light at the end of the corridor ahead of me.

Sunlight.

I don’t have much left.

About six bullets left in my rifle. No grenades. Shields gone. Stuck inside the enemy base with no hope of escape.

I can get the flag outside this damned base, though. I can do that much. I’ll be gunned down before I make it five steps and more likely than not, I’ll drop to my knees with my arms spread wide as the bullets punch through my armor, go out Platoon style.

Even if it’s just for a moment though, I can get the damned flag out of this base.

I can let it see the sun of a brand new day in the hope that the someone will see it and bear the tale.

Someone will see the red flag, shining proudly in the sunlight and know that it is NOT impossible. They’ll know that one of us made it at least that far and that knowledge will give them strength. It will give them the drive and the belief that it CAN be done so long as there is someone who believes.

So I get up.

For the eternal and everlasting glory of the illustrious Blues, I stagger to my feet and clutch the red flag in an armored hand. I push forward through the pain, ignoring the infernal ringing of the suit’s shield alarm and take a step.

Then another.

Commotion behind me, Reds of every sort barreling through the corridors, out for blood and the man who has dared to steal their flag.

Sunlight. Blinding.

I can hear shots firing, bullets whining past me…

…into the Red base!

My eyes open, blinking rapidly to try and adjust to the change in light and I hear that heavenly sound. A throaty roar and the screech of tires as the Warthog skids to a stop just in front of me. The Blue at the back has taken a firm stance, mounted gatling gun spinning and spitting out death into the red base at a hundred bullets per second.

The Blue riding shotgun hops out, sprinting toward me and then one step past. His armor hums as a shield forms from his arms, the hardlight shield engineered from Forerunner technology sliding interlocking plates of light into place to form an impenetrable barrier.

“Go! Go!” He shouts. The shield slides quickly from it’s frosty azure blue to orange and warming up to red as it starts to overload. I can see him fingering a pulse grenade on his belt as he counts down to when the shield will fail to make a final stand; ready to give his life in one final distraction to ensure the escape of me and the flag.

I grip his shoulder firmly through the armor as I limp past, the only thing I have time for as I climb into the Warthog and hunker down.

The driver burns rubber getting out of there, tires screeching as the gun on the back keeps firing, staying trained on the exit.

Looking back, I see the shield fizzle and spark out into nothing. As the brave soldier’s personal shields begin to overload and flash, I see him trigger the grenade and drop it at his feet, his triumphant cry the last thing I hear from him as it explodes, taking out him and the Reds that had been on my heels.

“FOR THE GLORY OF THE BLUES!”

…So ended my first multiplayer game of Halo 4.

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