Halo: Fireteam Phoenix

Chapter 2: Shipping Out

When Sarah finally woke, Aaron was already up. It was comforting to see his diligence. Even so, her toes curled at the perverse pride Aaron exhibited, lifting a pistol barrel to the light. He shook his head, pouring oil onto a rag and rubbing down the steel. Her feet hit the cold floor and she flinched. Sucking her teeth, she stretched and jogged a little on the spot. "Cold in here," she noted. Aaron grunted. Sarah sighed. Spartans didn't feel cold! No, they did not. Except, they of course did. They were just told not to express it. She pushed the thought from her mind and instead it wandered to other comforts. A nice mattress was something she'd never experienced. 

Even now, after years of her enhancements, the unique reality of them disturbed her. She had been augmented for over fifteen years since she was eleven. Now, at twenty-eight, she was certain a mattress soft as concrete should give her something like a bad back. It certainly wasn't comfortable to sleep on. Yet, bizarrely, she was spry as a spring chicken. Not that she was complaining. Arthritis wouldn't be a problem for her in old age. If she even hit old age. Life expectancy for her line of work was, understandably, brutally short. 

Suddenly, a niggling doubt pierced her wandering thoughts. Not life expectancy, service life. She had no life expectancy, really. Spartans didn't have lives, they were tools. Soldiers without leave. Like the mantra always said, We don't die, we go missing in action. 

Whilst Sarah underwent an early morning existential crisis, Derek was stirring. Marie was awake but lay still. She did not remain there from laziness. Rather, like Sarah, she was deep in thought. Waking was easy for her. By her reckoning, she was usually the earliest waker. Not, however, the earliest riser. Habit dictated she lay in bed, utterly still. In bed, she was safe. She didn't have to face anything but herself. No war, no conflict. Only herself and relative comfort. Comfort to consider everything, from the events of the past day to her painful reality. 

The war. War ruled her life, her actions. Even her body. Her eyes, once a rich brown, were now ice blue. It was the same for them all. Blue eyes. Derek nicknamed them 'Snow Squad' once until he irritated Sarah so much she threatened to bury him in snow. He'd fell silent soon after. They all new Sarah, fair as she was, did not make idle threats.

Sarah looked round. The rise and fall of Marie's sheets was far too irregular for a sleeper. Only Richard was still asleep. Sarah snatched a spoon from a mug of coffee Derek was gently stirring. He stared into it as if it held the secret of life. "Hey, what are you doing?" he hissed. "Shh." Sarah put a finger to her lips. Her footfalls were imperceptible as she crept to the pair. She suddenly pressed the hot spoon onto Richard's forehead. 

He shot up like a meerkat, howling, more from shock than pain. "Motherf-"

"Language, warrant officer," she smirked.

"Formality already, commander?" Richard rubbed the sore red spot on his forehead. "I've only got boxers on, at least let me get dressed first."

"You already overslept so you'll need to be jack flash to be ready. On the plus side, you got Marie out of her daydream." Sarah looked deep into Marie's eyes. "I know when you're awake, lieutenant."

"Commander." Marie swept her legs from her bed and pulled on a loose top and trousers. Richard did the same and began brewing tea. He buttered toast for himself and Marie whilst she made the beds. It was an unspoken agreement between the two. Richard's hands were too big to fit the sheets tight enough, and Marie put too much butter on the toast. So, they shared the load.

Whilst it was technically against procedure (everyone was supposed to make their own bed) Sarah let it slide. It got the pair ready sooner, plus she was their CO, not their parent. She refused to teach Marie to butter or Richard to make his bed. Best leave them to it.