Halo: Feet First

Camp Ravenport - Chapter 2 (Inferos)

August 18th, 2543 (22:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Sol System, Earth

ODST Training Base "Camp Ravenport", Scaffel Pike Mountain, United Kingdom

3 Weeks Later

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As far as Duncan could tell, his Uncle Rick was dead wrong. Either that, or he was lying about that 'feeling damned' part, because right now he honestly believed that hell itself had to be cozier than what he had been enduring for the past 2 weeks. The mud caking his face was one thing. The gunshots shooting so close overhead that he felt the heat on the back of his neck was another. Finally, the tormenting taunts the drill instructors roared through staccato bursts of gunfire helped summarize life at Camp Ravenport.

To Duncan's left, dozens of fellow recruits were crawling in several columns through muddy earth beneath lanes of barbed wire. The chill night air was full of the collective grunts and groans of men and women pushing past their limits just to reach the end of the course. Staying alive after that was an unguaranteed bonus.

There was a three-round burst immediately to Duncan's right and a fresh spray of mud plastered his face. He didn't even wince. He glanced at the smoking bullet holes in the muck just a few inches from his hands.

"Hey Iris, what're you stopping for!?"

Another three-round burst in the same spot sent Duncan clawing up his lane with renewed vigor. All the while the vein-faced drill instructor remained right beside him. He kept firing his M7 Submachine Gun into the ground close to the line of recruits. At the same time, he exclaimed one eloquent line after another explaining what he would have done had he met their parents with the knowledge that they would produce the human trash crawling in front of him. All of that in several different languages.

"Feltennék egy kést az Atyád szívébe, és magamért viszem az anyád! Fogadj rá!"

There goes the Hungarian again. Once Duncan and everyone in his lane heard it, they quickly doubled their efforts. It was always a bad sign when Drill Instructor Mahoney started using his native tongue in the middle of an exercise. It meant he was about to find a way to make life even more miserable for whatever woeful soul caught his eye.

It was generally accepted among ODST recruits that cultural backgrounds were a major factor in the varying degrees of drill instructors' intensity. Brazilian instructors were pains, and the Russians were just as likely to put a boot to your neck as they were to encourage you. But God help you if you got a Hungarian. Rumor had it that they specialized in making examples of recruits for the most minor misconduct. Their punishments were purposefully slow and agonizing, both physically and psychologically torturous. Duncan had no way to confirm that for himself save for the existence of the ODST Training Base in Hungary known as Camp Árpád. It had one of the most notorious reputations in Sol for virtually cranking out veterans that had yet to see actual action. Moreover, Mahoney was in the process of confirming that rumor firsthand.

Everyone on the line watched him kick out one of the support-beams for a section of the barbed wire. Without fail, the razor-wire mesh fell right on top of Duncan. It hooked into his clothes and cut into his skin. He swallowed down the cry of pain rising in his throat. Now wasn't the time. He reached for the knotted barbs and tried to disentangle himself. Only, the more he tried the more he was wrapped up and a line of ODST recruits were piling up behind him.