Author's Note: If you have any tips writing tips, please feel free to comment.
Again, I gratefully accept constructive criticism as a means to help me develop my skills further as a writer.
--- --- --- --- ---
Chapter 13: Alpha Company
Location: Zeta Doradus system, planet Onyx, Camp Currahee
December 27, 2531
1950 hours
Matt and Kurt watched the incoming Pelicans. The blocky jet-powered craft were so distant the were only specks against the setting sun. Matt hit the magnification on his faceplate and saw the lines of fire tracing their reentry vectors. They would touch down in three minutes.
In the last six months, they had developed a training regime tougher than the original SPARTAN program. They had created the obstacle courses, firing ranges, classrooms, mess halls, and dormitories from what had been jungle and scrub plain.
Kurt had received every piece of equipment he had requested from NavSpecWep Section Three. Guns, ammunition, dropships, tanks - even samples of covenant technology and weaponry had appeared as if by sleight of hand.
All personnel were accounted for: six dozen handpicked drill instructors, physical therapists, doctors, nurses, and the all-important cooks... all here except the most critical person who was now on the incoming transports: Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez.
Mendez, a dozen years ago, trained Matt, Kurt, and every other Spartan. He would be invaluable in preparing the new breed of SPARTAN-III, but he wasn't going to be the solution to all of Matt and Kurt's problems.
After pouring over every detail of new recruits' files, Matt and Kurt discovered that they didn't match the perfect psychological and genetic markers set in Dr. Halsey's original selection protocols. Colonel Ackerson had warned them they had to draw from a "less statistic robust" group. These recruits wouldn't be like them, John, Kelly, or any of the original SPARTAN-II candidates.
And this would only add a long list of challenges. With the final target class four times larger than the SPARTAN-II's, a severely truncated training schedule, and the need for these Spartans in the war increasing every month, Matt and Kurt, in fact, expected a disaster.
The Pelican jet transports swooped down on final approach and angled their thrusters. The sod on the parade ground rippled like velvet. One by one, they gingerly touched down.
Although Matt's MJOLNIR armor was not designed to best rank insignia, he nonetheless felt the weight of his new Lieutenant's bars. They pressed down on him as if they were a ton each as if the weight of the entire war and future or humanity rested squarely on his shoulders.
"Sirs?" a voice whispered into his COM.
The voice belonged to the artificial intelligence Eternal Spring. It was officially assigned to the planetary survey team stationed in the northern section of this peninsula.
Matt wasn't sure why Colonel Ackerson had insisted Camp Currahee be built next to the facility. He was sure, however, there had been a reason.
"Go ahead, Spring," Kurt said.
"Updated details on the candidates available," the AI said.
"Thanks," Kurt said.
"Thank me after your so-called test, sir." Eternal Spring terminated transmission with a hiss of static that sounded like angry bees.
Cajoled by Section Three brass, Eternal Soring had agreed to devote 9 percent of its runtime to the SPARTAN-III project. The AI was of the "smart" variety, which meant there were no limits on its knowledge or creativity. Despite its theatrics, Matt was happy for its help.
Matt blinked and accessed the candidates' data on his heads-up-display. Each name had a serial number and linked to the background files. There 497 of them, a collection of four, five p, and six-year-old children that he and Kurt had to forge into a fighting force unparalleled in the history of warfare.
The hatch on the nearest Pelican opened with a hiss, and a tall man strode out.
Mendez had aged well. His trim body looked chiseled from Ironwood, but the hair was now silver, and there were deep creases around his eyes and a set of ragged scars that ran brow to chin.
"Chief." Matt and Kurt said in unison. Matt resisted the urge to snap to attention as Mendez saluted. As odd as it felt, Matt and Kurt were now his commanding officers.
Matt and Kurt returned the salute.
"Chief Petty Officer Mendez reporting for duty, sirs."
After the SPARTAN-II program, Chief Mendez had, at his request, been assigned to active duty. He'd fought the covenant on five worlds, and been awarded two Purple Hearts.
"You were briefed on the flight?" Matt asked.
"Completely," Mendez said. As he looked over Matt and Kurt in their MJOLNIR armor, emotions played in his face: awe, approval, and resolve. "We'll get these new recruits trained, sirs."
This was precisely the response Matt had hoped for. Mendez was a legend amount the Spartans. He had tricked, trapped, and tortured them as children. They all hated and then learned how to admire the man. He taught them how to fight—and how to win.
"Do they let Spartans drink now?" Mendez asked.
"Chief?" the two Spartans said in unison.
"A bad joke sirs. We all might need one before this day is over," he said. "The new trainees are, well, sirs, a bit wild. I don't know if any of us are ready for this."
Mendez turned to the Pelicans, inhaled, and yelled, "Recruits, fall out!"
Kids streamed off dropship ramps. Hundreds tromped onto the field, screaming, and throwing clumps of sod at one another. After being cooped up for hours, they went wild. A few, however, milled near the ships, dark circles under their eyes, and they huddled tighter. Adult handlers herded them onto the grass.
"Either of you read Lord of the Flies?" Mendez muttered.
"I have," Matt said as he inspected the kids for the first time.
"As have I," Kurt replied. "But your analogy will not hold. These children will have guidance. They will have discipline. And they have one thing no ordinary children have, motivation."
Matt couldn't agree more with that statement.
Kurt linked to the camp's PA system. He cleared throat and the sound rumbled over the field like thunder.
Nearly five hundred crazed kids shopped in their tracks, fell silent, and turned amazed at the two giants in the shining emerald armor.
"Attention, recruits," Kurt said and stood akimbo. "I am Lieutenant Ambrose and beside me is Lieutenant Armstrong. You have all endured great hardships to be here. We know each of you has lost loved ones on Jericho VII, Harvest, and Biko. The covenant has made orphans of you all."
Every kid stared at them, and in particular, Kurt. Some with tears now gleamed in their eyes, others with pure burning hatred.
"We are going you a chance to learn how to fight, a chance to become the best soldiers the UNSC has ever produced, a chance to destroy the Covenant. We are giving you a chance to be like us: a Spartan.
The kids crowded before them, close... but none actually dared to touch the shimmering pale green armor.
"We cannot accept everyone, though," Kurt continued. "There are five hundred of you. We only have three training slots. So tonight, Chief Petty Officer Mendez"—he nodded to the Chief—"have devised a way to separate those who truly want this opportunity from those who do not."
Kurt handed him a tablet reader. "Chief?"
To his credit, Mendez registered shock for only a split second. He opened tablet, frowned, but nodded.
"Yes sir," he whispered.
Mendez yelled at the children, "You want to be Spartans? Then get back on those ships."
They stood shocked, staring at him.
"No? Well, I guess we found a few washouts. You." He pointed to one child at random. "You. And you."
The chosen kids looked at each other, at the ground, and then shook their heads.
"No?" Mendez said. "Then get on those Pelicans."
They did so and did others, a slow shuffling procession.
"Drill instructors," Mendez said.
Three dozen NCOs snapped to attention.
"You will find Falcon Wing aerial descent units on the field. Load them ASAP and make sure your trainees are properly fitted. Their safe deployment is now your responsibility."
The DIs nodded and ran towards the bundled Falcon Wing backpacks.
The Chief turned to them. "You're going to make them drop?" He raised both eyebrows in surprise. "At night?"
"Don't look at me, Chief," Matt said as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "It wasn't my idea to drop them at night. I would've dropped them in daylight."
"I figured it wasn't your idea," the Chief said.
"The Falcons are the safest drop units," Kurt replied.
"With respect, sir, some of them are only four-year-olds."
"Motivation, Chief. If they can do this, they'll be ready for what we have to put them through." Kurt watched the Pelicans fire their jets and scorch the grass. "But just in case," he added, "deploy all dropships to recover the candidates. There may be accidents."
Mendez exhaled deeply. "Yes, sir." He started for the nearest Pelican.
"Chief," Kurt said. "I'm sorry that order had to come from you."
"I understand, sir," Mendez replied. "You're their COs. You have to inspire and command them. I'm their drill instructor. I get to be their worst nightmare." He, Kurt, and Matt a crooked smile and climbed aboard.
"Its good to see him again," Matt said to Kurt over a private COM channel.
"Yes," Kurt replied. "Yes, it is."
--- --- --- --- ---
Shane clung to the plastic loops on the side of the Pelican's hull. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the other kids—packed so close that he wouldn't have fallen if he let go. The roar of the pelican's jets was deafening, but he could still hear his own heart racing in his chest.
This was the end of a journey that had started years ago. He'd heard jets like this when it started, the jets of the light freighter as it rocketed away from Harvest. It had been crowded on that ship... filled with refugees trying to get as far away, as fast as they could, from the monsters.
Only one in six ships had made it.
Sometimes Shane wished he hadn't lived and seen the monster burn his family and home.
When the Navy mem had come to visit him in the orphanage and asked if Shane wanted to get even with them, he immediately volunteered. No matter what it took, he was going to kill all the Covenant.
They had given him lots of tests, the written kind, blood tests, and then a monthlong space trip as the Navy man collected more and more volunteers.
Shane had thought the testing was over when they finally got to the Pelicans and came to this new place, but he'd barely touched the ground when they'd been shoved back inside and went back into the air.
He'd gotten a glimpse of the two in charge. They wore armor like Shane had seen in fairy tale books: the Green Knight who fought dragons. That's what Shane wanted. He was going to wear armor like that one day and kill all the monsters.
"Check your straps," an old Navy man barked at him and the other kids.
Shane tugged at the black backpack that they'd put on him three minutes ago. It weighted almost as much as him, and the straps had been pulled so tight they cut into his ribs.
"Report any looseness," the man shouted over the roar of the engines.
None of the twenty other kids said anything.
"Recruits, standby," the man barked. He listened into his headphones and then a green light blinked on a panel near his head. The man punched numbers into a keypad.
The back of the Pelican hissed open, the ramp lowered, and a tornado screamed around Shane. He yelled; so did the other kids. They all pushed and shoved to the front of the Pelican's bay.
The old Navy man stood by the open bay door, unafraid that only a meter to his rear was the open sky. He regarded the squirming kids with disgust.
Behind him, a dusky orange band marked the edge of the world. Twilight and lengthening shadows slipped over snowcapped mountains.
"You will form a line and jump," the man shouted. "You will count to ten and pull this." He reached up to his left shoulder, grasped the bright red handle there, and made a pretend pull motion. "Some confusion will be normal."
The kids stared at him. No one moved.
"If you cannot do this," the man said, "you cannot be a Spartan. It's your choice."
Shane looked at the other kids. They looked at him.
A girl with pigtails and missing her front teeth stepped forward. "I'll go first, sir," she
yelled.
"Good girl," he said. "Go right to the edge; hang on to the guideline."
She took the tiniest baby steps to the edge of the Pelican, then froze. She took three deep breaths and then with a squeak, she jumped. The wind caught her.
She vanished into the dark.
"Next!" the old Navy man said.
All the kids, Shane included, slowly formed a line. He couldn't believe they were doing this. It was nuts.
The next boy got to the edge, looked down, and screamed. He fell backward and scrambled away. "No!" he said. "No way!"
"Next!" the man called and didn't give the kid cowering on the deck another glance.
The next boy jumped without even looking. And the next.
Then it was Shane's turn.
He couldn't move his legs.
"Hurry up, loser," the boy behind him said and gave him a shove.
Shane stumbled forward—halting only a half step from the edge. He turned and stopped himself from shoving this kid back. The kid was a head taller than Shane, and his black hair fell into his eyes, making it seem like he was missing his forehead. Shane wasn't afraid of this creep.
He turned back to face the night rushing past him. This was what he was afraid of.
Shane's legs filled with freezing concrete. The rushing wind was so loud he couldn't hear anything else anymore, not even his hammering heart.
He couldn't move. He was stuck on the edge. There was no way he could jump.
But now he was so scared he couldn't even turn around and chicken out, either. If he sat down, though, and then slowly inched back—
"Go, dumbass!" The creep kid behind him pushed. Hard.
Shane fell off the ramp and into the night.
He tumbled and screamed until he couldn't breathe.
Shane saw flashes of the dimming sunset, black ground, the white caps of the mountains, and stars.
He threw up.
Some confusion will be normal.
The red handle! He had to grab it. He reached up, but there was nothing there. He clawed at his shoulder until two fingers found purchase. He tugged.
There were a ripping sound and something unraveled from his pack.
Shane jerked straight, his legs whipping after him, and his teeth snapped together from the sudden bone-jarring deceleration.
The spinning world stopped.
Gasping and blinking away his tears, Shane saw the last bit of amber light fade from the edge of the world, and the stars gently rock back and forth around him.
Overhead the wind whistled and rippled through a black canopy. Ropes connected Shane to this wing, and his hands instinctively grabbed them. As he pulled, the wing turned and angled in that direction.
The sudden motion made him dizzy again, so he let go.
Shane squinted and made out shapes swimming around him: black on black like the bats on Harvest. Those had to be the other kids, gliding like he was.
His face heated as he remembered how he'd chickened out at the last minute in the Pelican... in front of everyone. Even that little girl had jumped.
Shane never wanted to be scared like that again. Maybe if he imagined that he was already dead, then there would be nothing to be afraid of. It'd be like he'd died with his parents on Harvest.
He mustered this mental image—dead and nothing to fear— and to test it, he looked down. Past his dangling feet, there was a two-centimeter green square. After a moment, he realized it was the field where all the Pelicans had landed. Tiny lines snaked from the field illuminated by tiny firefly pinpoints, "Nothing to be scared of," he whispered, trying to convince himself.
He forced himself to pull the ropes, angle downward, and speed toward the green field.
The wind whipped through the black silk wing and tore at Shane's face. He didn't care. He wanted down fast. Maybe if he was the first one down, he'd show everyone that he wasn't scared.
Shane saw tiny people and scorch marks where the Pelicans had burned the grass. And no other parachutes yet. Good. He'd be first, and he'd land right in front of the Green Knight.
Shane hit the ground. His knees pistoned into his chest and knocked the wind out of him.
The black wing caught a breeze, jerked him back on his feet, and dragged him across the grass and dirt. He gasped for air, but he wasn't scared. He was angry that he'd look so stupid having to wrestle with this parachute.
The Falcon Wing hit the fence, and stuck there, fluttering.
Shane got up and undipped himself from the harness. Something hot trickled down his legs. There was no way he'd been so scared he pissed his pants. With dread, he looked. It was blood. The skin on the back of his legs was raw. He took a tentative step and fire crawled up both thighs.
He laughed. Blood or piss, what did it matter? He'd made it.
"Hey, dumbass. What's so funny?"
Shane turned and saw the kid who had pushed him. He lay on the grass, half tangled in his harness.
Shane marched over to him, ignoring the pain in his legs.
The kid got to one knee and held out his hand to shake. "I'm Rob—"
Shane hit him square in the nose. Blood gushed from the kid's face and he keeled over.
He was going to pay for shoving him. He was the only one who knew that Shane had frozen on the edge and chickened out. He'd have to pay for that, too.
Shane started pounding him with right and left fists.
The kid held up his arms to fend off the blows, but Shane landed a few good ones, skinning his knuckles.
Robert headbutted Shane, and he fell off.
Robert stood, shook off his harness, then growling, leaped onto Shane.
They rolled on the grass, kicking and punching.
Shane heard a loud snap and he wasn't sure if it was his or Rob's bone breaking; he didn't care, he kept hitting and hitting until blood spilled into his eyes and he couldn't see anymore.
Large hands grabbed Shane and pulled him off. Still swinging, Shane connected with one of the Navy men, bruising the bone over his eye.
The man dropped him.
"Stand down!" barked a voice with godlike authority.
Shane blinked and wiped the blood from his eyes. The silver-haired man who had given the order to jump stood between him and the other kid.
The Navy man he'd hit pressed one hand to his swollen eye and said, "Chief, these two were going to kill each other."
"I see that," the old man said. He nodded approvingly at Shane and then turned to Robert.
Robert ignored the old man and took a step toward Shane with his hands raised.
"I said STAND DOWN!"
Robert dropped his hands and staggered back as if he'd been struck.
"I think you're right, Sergeant," the older Navy man said. "They really might have killed each other." He smiled, only it wasn't a smile. It was more like he was baring his teeth. "Very good. That kind of fight left in them after their first jump? A night jump? My God, I only hope the rest of them are like this."
--- --- --- --- ---
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Did you love that chapter!? I hope you did! Show your support for the author by simply clicking the little VOTE button to the bottom left or top right of your screen! Have a wonderful day!
Votes and Comments/Feedback most enthusiastically welcome!