Steven Briggs was having a bad day.
The steering controls of his orbital drop pod had shorted on him halfway to the target zone, leaving him totally powerless over his direction of descent. Furthermore, as the land below him grew bigger, he couldn't help but notice there was a whole Covenant welcome party waiting for him.
He didn't have much faith in pitting his M7 SMG against droves of Grunts and their Brute overseers, not when they had two plasma tanks trawling around behind them. Then again, even without those purple mammoths pounding him into dust, a single Brute would probably be enough to tear his spine from his back.
Though Briggs did have plenty of faith in the Lord Above.
"Get me out of this Jesus, and I promise I wont ever gamble at cards again," he muttered to himself, as he braced for the inevitable impact.
Something struck the drop pod, sending the grizzled Medic off at a sharp sideways angle. The world shot past below him, but it also grew nearer; the controls, perhaps awakened by whatever had hit his pod, lurched to life.
"DANGER, DANGER, DANGER, FATAL TRAJECTORY DETECTED," boomed the feminine voice of Briggs' very own angel of death.
"No shi- I mean, yeah, thanks," replied Briggs, trying to keep his brain from blacking out on him as the pod rocketed across the landscape.
Men were screaming all around. Rifles were blazing at an increasing rate, physically shaking the ground below his aching back. A shadowy figure stood over him, looking down, shouting something.
"What?"
"I said, are you OKAY!?"
Briggs dragged himself up. His body ached at inch-long intervals, and his head felt like it had gotten the worst of a sledge hammer's rage.
"Where am I?" He asked, wiping his eyes in an attempt to clear the blurriness.
"New Mombasa, Sir."
"Sir? Who's in charge here?"
"You are, Sir."
Briggs' vision finally focused, along with his muffled hearing, and he found himself staring at the young, sombre face of a woman. He couldn't see any rank insignia on her, and so presumed she was a Private with either the Army or the UNSCMC.
"Where's my helmet, Private?" He asked, gauging his surroundings. She handed it to him in short order. "Thank you kindly. I don't suppose you've seen the rest of my flock, have you?"
"They scattered around grid H-17," she replied; she flinched as a plasma bolt exploded some yards away.
"Where are we?" he asked, kneeling down to retrieve his M7.
"G-17 sir, a click west," she said, showing him the geographical display on her tablet.
"Ooh-rah," Briggs said with a smile. "Get the men ready, we're moving out on my command."