Alan gestured to his teammates. Two – one at ten o’clock and another at two o’clock. There were two members of another group covering their position. Although his hand-signals wouldn’t seem very specific to an outsider, the members of team Spear – Alan, Demitri, Chad, and Michael – had been working together long enough to know what Spartan O-34 meant. If the men were to reach their objective, then they would have to move as one, as if a single mind controlled all four of them.
Alan often dreamed of this exercise – it was his favorite of all the training missions during Spartan training, and unbeknownst to him, one that every Spartan had gone through at some point in their lives.
The object of the game – if you could call it a game when teams of cybernetically enhanced supersoldiers-in-training fought one another with guns equipped with rubber bullets – was relatively simple. There was a large playing area, with thick forest occupying most of the field. In the middle, however, there was a clearing with a large pole in the center. Extending out from the pole in several directions were rope bridges that connected to the trees, for arboreal travel, and several ramps that lead to the ground. Atop the pole in the very center of the course was a small brass bell. The aforementioned object of the exercise: ring the bell, by any means necessary.
As team commander, it was Alan’s job to direct his men to victory. Again using the short, silent hand signals, he instructed Demitri and Michael to flank around to the two enemies he had spotted before, and take them out before moving up to the rope bridges at three and nine o’clock, respectively. Chad would stay with him and watch his back, making sure that no one would catch him by surprise as he went straight up the closest ramp to ring the bell.
Mere moments after Michael and Demitri were given their tasks, shots rang out, followed by cries of pain from the targets they were sent to eliminate. They appeared atop the rope bridges to the right and left of Alan’s field of view, giving a thumbs-up. Chad tapped him on the back, and the two of them approached the pole at the center of the clearing, slowly, scanning for enemies.
Just as they began to climb the ramp, however, shots were fired at them from a multitude of directions. As Demitri and Michael had ascended, another team moved in for an easy steal. But the Spartans-in-training of team Spear didn’t give up that easily, and weren’t going to be the losers that got to skip dinner that night. Chad quickly took out the closest opponent to him, and Alan turned and fired a burst, peppering another man’s chest with rubber bullets. Michael and Demitri took out the other two team members, and they were in the clear.
Alan climbed up the ramp, his legs tired from the kneeling and running he had done hunting down other teams during the exercise. As he pulled himself up to the platform atop the pole where the bell sat, he was ecstatic. He had strived his hardest to win this game, and now he had. He closed his eyes as he went to ring the bell, but instead of a nice metallic ringing, there was the loud call of the siren.
As he put on his armor, Alan thought back to the exercise he had just been dreaming about moments before. It was time to be the leader again, time to accept nothing less than victory, and time to take no prisoners in defending humanity.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Chapter 4
Later that night, there was much celebration in the barracks. While the human population was dwindling away from the Covenant invasion and their advanced technology, the men protecting the refugees on this particular planet felt elation at even the smallest of victories.
As Alan walked into the mess hall in his fatigues, he was happy to be out of his armor. Without the armor, he felt like, if just for a minute, he wasn’t stationed on a far-flung planet, engaged in a war for all time. Suffice it to say that he felt like both a figurative and literal weight was lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in weeks, he let himself relax and try to be comfortable. He saw Leo sitting in the bar section of the mess hall, and took a seat next to him.
“Good evening, soldier,” Leo said to him in his usual gruff tone. “And the same to you!” Alan said. "Nice job with that diplomatic shit out there. I didn’t think my CO could be so charismatic, especially toward some eight-foot-tall split-jaw who just the other day was trying to kill his men.”
Leo looked back at him with a bit of annoyance, which was most likely fuelled by celebratory alcohol imbibing. “Well, I don’t know if any of us like them alien bastards. Hell, I certainly don’t, but would you rather have them fighting us, or on our side?” He didn’t give Alan a chance to answer. “You’ve seen those monsters in combat. Hell, I even saw a big one rip one of my men in half. Their whole species is a warrior society, Sophia tells me. These guys live to fight and prove themselves. So I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely glad that they’re fighting the brutes with us.” The CO took a long pull of his beverage, and then changed the subject.
“Have you heard of the armor upgrades coming through?” Leo asked him. Alan was usually fairly well informed, but this particular bit of news had eluded him. His superior saw the baffled look on his face. “I guess not,” he said. “Yeah, there’s some upgrades coming in from some of our controlled worlds, you know, where they still have money to do research. I already looked over the options, and for the type of work we’re doing, there won’t be many of them that will be useful to us. I guess, being my second-in-command, you can see for yourself if there’s anything that catches your fancy. Here.”
He punched a few keys on a datapad sitting on the bar and slid it over to Alan. As he flipped through the options, the veteran officer provided his commentary. “That one there – the “C” variant – is the one I picked. They say it’s better for close-up fighting, and you know me,” he said with a wink and a smile. Continuing his own inspection, Alan checked out the other variants. There was one for space combat - which wasn’t a concern for them – and one for explosive ordinance disposal – again, not really in their realm of operations – and another set that looked like something out of one of those old Japanese movies he had seen as a kid. A smile crossed his face.
“Hey, I’ve picked one out. I like this one, the H- hay—“
“Hayabusa powered armor,” Leo finished for him. “It’s pretty flashy, boy. But… you’re my best soldier out here. I know we’re all supposed to be enhanced and crafted to fight this war equally, but some of us have something special. Sure. I’ll tack it onto the order. Hell, you’re a good leader, and maybe this’ll provide some of the other guys with a little bit of incentive, too.”
Alan smiled at the compliment, and he knew deep down that Leo’s little talk was probably influenced by whatever he was drinking, but it still made him proud. If the man who was scared to death of failure so paralyzingly that Sophia once tapped into his helmet to snap him out of a daydream could be the best soldier in his unit, and earn such an honor from a man who rarely gave such compliments, then he must have been doing something right. He had been working on that too, lately – the fear. He tried not to let it consume him so entirely tried to let it become something tangivle he could strive against. Every Covie he killed he associated with his fear. And with every burst of his rifle, he felt like a little piece of his fear was killed off. It was silly when he thought about it, but when it came down to it, doing so was the only thing that got him to sleep at night.
As Alan walked into the mess hall in his fatigues, he was happy to be out of his armor. Without the armor, he felt like, if just for a minute, he wasn’t stationed on a far-flung planet, engaged in a war for all time. Suffice it to say that he felt like both a figurative and literal weight was lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in weeks, he let himself relax and try to be comfortable. He saw Leo sitting in the bar section of the mess hall, and took a seat next to him.
“Good evening, soldier,” Leo said to him in his usual gruff tone. “And the same to you!” Alan said. "Nice job with that diplomatic shit out there. I didn’t think my CO could be so charismatic, especially toward some eight-foot-tall split-jaw who just the other day was trying to kill his men.”
Leo looked back at him with a bit of annoyance, which was most likely fuelled by celebratory alcohol imbibing. “Well, I don’t know if any of us like them alien bastards. Hell, I certainly don’t, but would you rather have them fighting us, or on our side?” He didn’t give Alan a chance to answer. “You’ve seen those monsters in combat. Hell, I even saw a big one rip one of my men in half. Their whole species is a warrior society, Sophia tells me. These guys live to fight and prove themselves. So I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely glad that they’re fighting the brutes with us.” The CO took a long pull of his beverage, and then changed the subject.
“Have you heard of the armor upgrades coming through?” Leo asked him. Alan was usually fairly well informed, but this particular bit of news had eluded him. His superior saw the baffled look on his face. “I guess not,” he said. “Yeah, there’s some upgrades coming in from some of our controlled worlds, you know, where they still have money to do research. I already looked over the options, and for the type of work we’re doing, there won’t be many of them that will be useful to us. I guess, being my second-in-command, you can see for yourself if there’s anything that catches your fancy. Here.”
He punched a few keys on a datapad sitting on the bar and slid it over to Alan. As he flipped through the options, the veteran officer provided his commentary. “That one there – the “C” variant – is the one I picked. They say it’s better for close-up fighting, and you know me,” he said with a wink and a smile. Continuing his own inspection, Alan checked out the other variants. There was one for space combat - which wasn’t a concern for them – and one for explosive ordinance disposal – again, not really in their realm of operations – and another set that looked like something out of one of those old Japanese movies he had seen as a kid. A smile crossed his face.
“Hey, I’ve picked one out. I like this one, the H- hay—“
“Hayabusa powered armor,” Leo finished for him. “It’s pretty flashy, boy. But… you’re my best soldier out here. I know we’re all supposed to be enhanced and crafted to fight this war equally, but some of us have something special. Sure. I’ll tack it onto the order. Hell, you’re a good leader, and maybe this’ll provide some of the other guys with a little bit of incentive, too.”
Alan smiled at the compliment, and he knew deep down that Leo’s little talk was probably influenced by whatever he was drinking, but it still made him proud. If the man who was scared to death of failure so paralyzingly that Sophia once tapped into his helmet to snap him out of a daydream could be the best soldier in his unit, and earn such an honor from a man who rarely gave such compliments, then he must have been doing something right. He had been working on that too, lately – the fear. He tried not to let it consume him so entirely tried to let it become something tangivle he could strive against. Every Covie he killed he associated with his fear. And with every burst of his rifle, he felt like a little piece of his fear was killed off. It was silly when he thought about it, but when it came down to it, doing so was the only thing that got him to sleep at night.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Chapter 3
Leo saw the vitals of his men rising on the HUD inside his helmet. They were tense; the entire unit coiled like a rattlesnake, waiting for their enemy to make a mistake that they could then exploit. It seemed like the enemy were taking their sweet time to get to their position, but the fervor and adrenaline of battle always slowed things down.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t right about the incoming enemy force. Traditional Covenant tactics dictated an opening salvo of heavy plasma bombardment – if they knew the humans were there, they would have opened fire already.
Unless this wasn’t an attack group.
At the moment that thought ran through his helmeted head, Omega Company’s AI, Sophia,
chimed in across the COM channel in their helmets.
“Spartans! Stand down. This is Sophia. I have just received a message from UNSC CENTCOM on Earth- the incoming force is friendly! “
Leo was taken aback by her remark. He quickly questioned the statement in his head, but knew that Sophia wouldn’t lie to him… he wasn’t even sure she could if she wanted to. The humans had been fighting these same monstrosities for decades, and they were right at this very moment attacking Earth, and fighting the UNSC to the last man, committing atrocities in the name of their heathen gods -
“The Elites,” Sophia continued, “have just signed a treaty with the UNSC. You are to treat any of their kind as an allied force. The group you see now is on a peace mission, to greet you. They are very eager to help you defend this planet and her human refugees against the Covenant Loyalists.”
There was a general exhale among the troops, and the tension abated a bit, although not entirely – many of the men were not yet ready to trust the alien soldiers they had just been killing the day before. Sophia crackled in again over their helmets: “Again, Spartans, I repeat – Stand down.”
As the Sangheili warriors drove their alien vehicles perilously close to the Spartan front line, many of the human soldiers still gripped their rifles with white knuckles. The closest, a white-armored fellow, slowed his Ghost to a stop and got off the small transport, its alien technologies keeping it suspended eerily in the air. He carried no weapon, and neither did the others – in fact, upon closer inspection, the plasma turret on their Spectre had been removed and replaced with another seat.
Leo set down his sniper rifle, jumped over the reinforced barricade, and removed his helmet when he landed, revealing the youthful face of a twenty-something conscripted to fight when the Earth had nothing else left to give. As he walked across the short, sandy distance to the eight-foot-tall warrior clad in white, he held his helmet under his left arm and his right hand out in a sign of peace.
“In the name of Earth and the UNSC, I bid you a peaceful welcome.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sr’Tas ‘Rolamee dismounted his Ghost, brushed a bit of dust off of his white armor, and walked toward the human warrior. Behind him, his second-in-command G’do ‘Nosahmee cleared his throat, and Sr’Tas turned to look, but signaled that he stay behind. He didn’t need to appear any more intimidating than he already was to these humans, so he left the backup behind. Though he carried no firearm, he did have the deactivated hilt of an energy sword on his right leg, just in case the Spartans weren’t true to their word.
While he was no fan of the humans, G’do Nosahmee did admire their tenacity. The race had stood up to the onslaught of the Covenant for decades, and hadn’t budged. When added to the fact that he had suspected the treachery of the prophets all along, G’do was rather happy to have an ally in the war against the Covenant Loyalists. The Sangheili were going to need all the help they could in fighting off the Brutes, and the humans had proven their valor in combat time and time again.
The white-armored elite walked until he was within an arm’s length of the sandy-haired human. There was a moment of awkward silence, until the alien soldier held out his hand in greeting.
“In the name of Earth and the UNSC, I bid you a peaceful welcome. I am the commanding officer of this unit, Omega Company, and my name is Leo.”
Sr’Tas stared at Leo’s hand for a moment, unsure of the gesture he was presenting, but extended his own when he deemed the ritual to be diplomatic. Although he knew that the warrior he was shaking hands with was strong and battle-hardened by numerous engagements, he was surprised at how he dwarfed him in size.
‘Rolamee responded to the welcome. “And I greet you with good will from my people, human,” he said. “I am called Sr’Tas ‘Rolamee and I trust that your leaders have informed you of the détente between our races?”
Leo smiled. “Actually, we all came out here when we heard you were coming. We were going to open fire, until we received word of the truce about 3 minutes ago. But I assure you, we have every intention of fighting the Brutes with you at our side. “
Sr’Tas smiled. “The feeling is mutual, human. Although I must return to my ship and proceed with the creation and fortification of a base for my warriors here, I am sure we will be in close communication.”
And with that the elite was off, back to a location where he would be lifted to his cruiser in orbit. Leo let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t explain to anyone how nervous he had been during the exchange with the elite commander – he had seen these monsters rip men to shreds – his men! And he had just shaken hands with the leader of one of their detachments.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t right about the incoming enemy force. Traditional Covenant tactics dictated an opening salvo of heavy plasma bombardment – if they knew the humans were there, they would have opened fire already.
Unless this wasn’t an attack group.
At the moment that thought ran through his helmeted head, Omega Company’s AI, Sophia,
chimed in across the COM channel in their helmets.
“Spartans! Stand down. This is Sophia. I have just received a message from UNSC CENTCOM on Earth- the incoming force is friendly! “
Leo was taken aback by her remark. He quickly questioned the statement in his head, but knew that Sophia wouldn’t lie to him… he wasn’t even sure she could if she wanted to. The humans had been fighting these same monstrosities for decades, and they were right at this very moment attacking Earth, and fighting the UNSC to the last man, committing atrocities in the name of their heathen gods -
“The Elites,” Sophia continued, “have just signed a treaty with the UNSC. You are to treat any of their kind as an allied force. The group you see now is on a peace mission, to greet you. They are very eager to help you defend this planet and her human refugees against the Covenant Loyalists.”
There was a general exhale among the troops, and the tension abated a bit, although not entirely – many of the men were not yet ready to trust the alien soldiers they had just been killing the day before. Sophia crackled in again over their helmets: “Again, Spartans, I repeat – Stand down.”
As the Sangheili warriors drove their alien vehicles perilously close to the Spartan front line, many of the human soldiers still gripped their rifles with white knuckles. The closest, a white-armored fellow, slowed his Ghost to a stop and got off the small transport, its alien technologies keeping it suspended eerily in the air. He carried no weapon, and neither did the others – in fact, upon closer inspection, the plasma turret on their Spectre had been removed and replaced with another seat.
Leo set down his sniper rifle, jumped over the reinforced barricade, and removed his helmet when he landed, revealing the youthful face of a twenty-something conscripted to fight when the Earth had nothing else left to give. As he walked across the short, sandy distance to the eight-foot-tall warrior clad in white, he held his helmet under his left arm and his right hand out in a sign of peace.
“In the name of Earth and the UNSC, I bid you a peaceful welcome.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sr’Tas ‘Rolamee dismounted his Ghost, brushed a bit of dust off of his white armor, and walked toward the human warrior. Behind him, his second-in-command G’do ‘Nosahmee cleared his throat, and Sr’Tas turned to look, but signaled that he stay behind. He didn’t need to appear any more intimidating than he already was to these humans, so he left the backup behind. Though he carried no firearm, he did have the deactivated hilt of an energy sword on his right leg, just in case the Spartans weren’t true to their word.
While he was no fan of the humans, G’do Nosahmee did admire their tenacity. The race had stood up to the onslaught of the Covenant for decades, and hadn’t budged. When added to the fact that he had suspected the treachery of the prophets all along, G’do was rather happy to have an ally in the war against the Covenant Loyalists. The Sangheili were going to need all the help they could in fighting off the Brutes, and the humans had proven their valor in combat time and time again.
The white-armored elite walked until he was within an arm’s length of the sandy-haired human. There was a moment of awkward silence, until the alien soldier held out his hand in greeting.
“In the name of Earth and the UNSC, I bid you a peaceful welcome. I am the commanding officer of this unit, Omega Company, and my name is Leo.”
Sr’Tas stared at Leo’s hand for a moment, unsure of the gesture he was presenting, but extended his own when he deemed the ritual to be diplomatic. Although he knew that the warrior he was shaking hands with was strong and battle-hardened by numerous engagements, he was surprised at how he dwarfed him in size.
‘Rolamee responded to the welcome. “And I greet you with good will from my people, human,” he said. “I am called Sr’Tas ‘Rolamee and I trust that your leaders have informed you of the détente between our races?”
Leo smiled. “Actually, we all came out here when we heard you were coming. We were going to open fire, until we received word of the truce about 3 minutes ago. But I assure you, we have every intention of fighting the Brutes with you at our side. “
Sr’Tas smiled. “The feeling is mutual, human. Although I must return to my ship and proceed with the creation and fortification of a base for my warriors here, I am sure we will be in close communication.”
And with that the elite was off, back to a location where he would be lifted to his cruiser in orbit. Leo let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t explain to anyone how nervous he had been during the exchange with the elite commander – he had seen these monsters rip men to shreds – his men! And he had just shaken hands with the leader of one of their detachments.
Chapter 2
Alan thought about his Lieutenant’s words for a moment. Slowly, he came to a shocking epiphany of terrible fear, and he immediately became nauseous. It was all on them. They were the final protectors of thousands and thousands of people, and if the Covenant stumbled across their backwater planet, they were going to be tested. As if the pressure before he knew this hadn’t been enough, Leo’s frankness was enough to bring a bit of nausea to the pit of his stomach.
“That’s the reason for this, you know.” Leo patted the helmet of his MJOLNIR armor sitting on his desk. “Every other company of Spartan-IIIs was equipped with that cheaper SPI garbage.”
Alan tried to remember where he’d heard that acronym before-- around the dinner table one night back during training. That “garbage” was the newest in UNSC armor technology. It wasn’t as heavy or as thick as the half-ton MJOLNIR Mk. VI, but it did feature a cutting-edge active camouflage system. It allowed the Spartan-III to become nearly invisible against any background; a blur of motion that came before the kill.
“Why weren’t we issued the same equipment?” Alan asked, curious. The lieutenant jabbed the tiny, burnt end of his cigar into an ashtray on his desk.
Looking back up at Alan, Leo’s answer was frank and to the point. “Because that new stuff peels off like a candy wrapper when it gets hit by plasma… I guess they figure that the defenders of Earth’s refugees, and possibly the last examples of the human race, need something a little more resilient.”
Alan’s stomach dropped at the latter part of the response. He quickly tried to find another question to clear his mind, but he couldn’t find a more comfortable topic. “Well then, why are there only three hundred of us?”
“I guess they went for quality over quantity. With only three hundred of us for an entire colony of wounded, war-weary refugees, we had better be good.”
“Yes sir.”
“And we are.”
“Hell yes, sir!” Leo smiled. “Alright, three-four…”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Alan snapped out of the daydream he was in when he heard the shrill blast of the warning siren. It was two whistles, with two seconds silence, and then repeated itself. It was a level two alarm- a small Covenant force inbound with vehicles.
As he ran to his quarters for his weapon, he thought about what Leo had told him. He loaded a fresh clip of ammunition into the stock of his MA5C Assault Rifle and pulled the bolt. While he watched the digital “32” on the ammo indicator wink on, he couldn’t help but think happily to himself, and a smirk emerged across his face.
“We are damn good,” Spartan-O34 said out loud.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Alan took a bit of a detour, not to avoid the fight, but to buy himself time. He was very superstitious; every time he knew there would be a fight, he liked to prepare himself mentally.
He rounded the corner, and saw the red light above the door to the soon-to-be front lines flashing. “I guess it’s time to face the music,” he said under his breath.
Upon donning his helmet, Alan saw his Assault Rifle’s reticule and the green status lights of his three hundred comrades, divided into groups of four. He took a spot next to Leo behind one of the reinforced, portable titanium ramparts. “What’s the good word, sir?” he asked.
“Our surveillance reports two ghosts, one Spectre. Half a klick out, and they’re all Elites.” Alan looked at the S2AM Sniper Rifle in Leo’s hands.
“A little present for a ghost pilot, sir?” Had he not been wearing a helmet, Alan would have seen him smile. “You bet.”
Alan looked down the line to his right and saw Chad standing a few yards away, loading a clip into his own sniper rifle. It looked like he’d be giving the other Elite his haircut. He was confident when he saw Chad with the weapon- Spartan-O12 was probably the best shot out of all of them.
Up the line, to the left of Leo, Alan could see one of the other Omegas doing a once-over on his M41 “SPNKr” rocket launcher; a warm welcome for the incoming Spectre. He looked on his Heads-Up Display and saw the soldier listed as “SPARTAN O-129: ERIC.” In the minutes before the first shots of the engagement would be fired, Alan read through Eric’s dossier. He knew that this Spartan was unfamiliar; O-129 had just been transferred in from Delta Company. He was the sole survivor of the group.
Alan opened up a private COM channel with Eric. He wanted to help ease the kid’s nerves. “Hey one-two-nine! Welcome to Omega Company. Make sure that rocket of yours doesn’t miss, alright?”
Eric jumped when he heard the voice inside his helmet. “Yes, sir!” he replied nervously. Alan could tell he was on edge; his heart rate was showing up higher than normal on the HUD’s vitals monitor.
“Don’t worry, I’m just busting your chops. If you don’t hit it, someone will. There are three hundred of us… against what? Six of them split-jaws? Forget about it. Just stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”
Alan could hear Eric give a sigh of relief in his helmet. “Thank you, sir. Sorry I’m so nervous. I just don’t want to let anyone down.”
Spartan O-34 gave a chuckle. “Trust me, bud. I know exactly how you feel.” He turned and looked out on the horizon. He could see dust and sand being kicked up by the engines of the Covenant vehicles.
“Half a klick!” Leo yelled to all the Spartans.
“That’s the reason for this, you know.” Leo patted the helmet of his MJOLNIR armor sitting on his desk. “Every other company of Spartan-IIIs was equipped with that cheaper SPI garbage.”
Alan tried to remember where he’d heard that acronym before-- around the dinner table one night back during training. That “garbage” was the newest in UNSC armor technology. It wasn’t as heavy or as thick as the half-ton MJOLNIR Mk. VI, but it did feature a cutting-edge active camouflage system. It allowed the Spartan-III to become nearly invisible against any background; a blur of motion that came before the kill.
“Why weren’t we issued the same equipment?” Alan asked, curious. The lieutenant jabbed the tiny, burnt end of his cigar into an ashtray on his desk.
Looking back up at Alan, Leo’s answer was frank and to the point. “Because that new stuff peels off like a candy wrapper when it gets hit by plasma… I guess they figure that the defenders of Earth’s refugees, and possibly the last examples of the human race, need something a little more resilient.”
Alan’s stomach dropped at the latter part of the response. He quickly tried to find another question to clear his mind, but he couldn’t find a more comfortable topic. “Well then, why are there only three hundred of us?”
“I guess they went for quality over quantity. With only three hundred of us for an entire colony of wounded, war-weary refugees, we had better be good.”
“Yes sir.”
“And we are.”
“Hell yes, sir!” Leo smiled. “Alright, three-four…”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Alan snapped out of the daydream he was in when he heard the shrill blast of the warning siren. It was two whistles, with two seconds silence, and then repeated itself. It was a level two alarm- a small Covenant force inbound with vehicles.
As he ran to his quarters for his weapon, he thought about what Leo had told him. He loaded a fresh clip of ammunition into the stock of his MA5C Assault Rifle and pulled the bolt. While he watched the digital “32” on the ammo indicator wink on, he couldn’t help but think happily to himself, and a smirk emerged across his face.
“We are damn good,” Spartan-O34 said out loud.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Alan took a bit of a detour, not to avoid the fight, but to buy himself time. He was very superstitious; every time he knew there would be a fight, he liked to prepare himself mentally.
He rounded the corner, and saw the red light above the door to the soon-to-be front lines flashing. “I guess it’s time to face the music,” he said under his breath.
Upon donning his helmet, Alan saw his Assault Rifle’s reticule and the green status lights of his three hundred comrades, divided into groups of four. He took a spot next to Leo behind one of the reinforced, portable titanium ramparts. “What’s the good word, sir?” he asked.
“Our surveillance reports two ghosts, one Spectre. Half a klick out, and they’re all Elites.” Alan looked at the S2AM Sniper Rifle in Leo’s hands.
“A little present for a ghost pilot, sir?” Had he not been wearing a helmet, Alan would have seen him smile. “You bet.”
Alan looked down the line to his right and saw Chad standing a few yards away, loading a clip into his own sniper rifle. It looked like he’d be giving the other Elite his haircut. He was confident when he saw Chad with the weapon- Spartan-O12 was probably the best shot out of all of them.
Up the line, to the left of Leo, Alan could see one of the other Omegas doing a once-over on his M41 “SPNKr” rocket launcher; a warm welcome for the incoming Spectre. He looked on his Heads-Up Display and saw the soldier listed as “SPARTAN O-129: ERIC.” In the minutes before the first shots of the engagement would be fired, Alan read through Eric’s dossier. He knew that this Spartan was unfamiliar; O-129 had just been transferred in from Delta Company. He was the sole survivor of the group.
Alan opened up a private COM channel with Eric. He wanted to help ease the kid’s nerves. “Hey one-two-nine! Welcome to Omega Company. Make sure that rocket of yours doesn’t miss, alright?”
Eric jumped when he heard the voice inside his helmet. “Yes, sir!” he replied nervously. Alan could tell he was on edge; his heart rate was showing up higher than normal on the HUD’s vitals monitor.
“Don’t worry, I’m just busting your chops. If you don’t hit it, someone will. There are three hundred of us… against what? Six of them split-jaws? Forget about it. Just stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”
Alan could hear Eric give a sigh of relief in his helmet. “Thank you, sir. Sorry I’m so nervous. I just don’t want to let anyone down.”
Spartan O-34 gave a chuckle. “Trust me, bud. I know exactly how you feel.” He turned and looked out on the horizon. He could see dust and sand being kicked up by the engines of the Covenant vehicles.
“Half a klick!” Leo yelled to all the Spartans.
Chapter 1
Alan sat on a cargo crate and took out his combat knife. Trying not to vomit from the rancid odor, he scraped a thick, gooey layer off of the bottom of his boot. As he thought about the look on the Jackal’s face right before he crushed the alien’s head under his shoe, he threw up in his mouth a little bit - just enough to leave the acrid taste of gastric juice in his mouth. Walking on the hot sand had baked the bird’s brains into a layer of dark purple muck. Alan’s knife made a small “plink” when it ran into the tread on the underside of his armored foot. This simple job was finished; now he had to find something else to do to keep his mind from wandering.
He made his rounds through their makeshift camp, checking on the men wounded during the last engagement - the one where he crushed the Jackal’s skull. As Alan made his way over to SPARTAN -O109’s cot, he checked his vital signs on a datapad. He was leveling off; his wound was instantly cauterized by the heat of the explosion that caused it, and for now, the only worry was that he would go into shock.
“Are you feeling at all better, Demitri?” The wounded Spartan ran a gloved hand through his short, brown hair. “Well, chief, since the medics gave me morphine, I’ve been doing great.”
“That’s good,” Alan responded. He immediately thought back to that last fight. It was the third engagement of that morning, and the most recent one as well. He could remember the entire thing very vividly. In fact, Alan’s exceptional memory was often the cause of a lot of his stress; he remembered, with an incredible level of detail, smells, sounds, and emotions. He remembered perfectly seeing the small blue glob of plasma arc through the air and land three feet from Demitri’s right side. He remembered even more perfectly watching his comrade dive to avoid the explosion of the grenade. And most chillingly, he remembered the scream that Demitri issued as his right leg was vaporized up to the knee.
Alan blinked, and it was all gone. He opened his eyes to find himself standing back in front of Demitri’s cot, datapad still in hand. He looked down to the device to find that the screen was cracked and blank. While reminiscing the terror, he had crushed the instrument with his hands.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re feeling better, Demitri,” Alan said awkwardly. “When we get you to a real hospital, we’ll set you up with the guys from cybernetics. They’ll get you back out here in no time.” Demitri gave him a mischievous smirk. He loved to fight - killing Covenant forces seemed to be what he lived for. Alan tossed the broken datapad over his shoulder and into a pile of junk, and continued his walk around the improvised base.
Although he wasn’t the commanding officer of the battalion, SPARTAN - O34 Alan couldn’t help but feel like everything in the conflicts they weathered was his responsibility. He felt each and every wound received by each of the Spartans of Omega Company, their fears, their triumphs, and their pains. And there were his own problems, plentiful and deep.
Alan was terrified. He had been scared of this whole thing from the beginning; from volunteering for the SPARTAN-III program as a child, to basic training, to the day he went into surgery for his physical enhancements. Even though his bones had been grafted with carbide ceramic composite and he was wearing the legendary MJOLNIR Mark VI Armor, of which each suit cost more than an entire UNSC frigate, Alan couldn’t bring himself to be brave. Nothing could make him not fear battle, or the onslaught of the Covenant war machine - and yet his cowardice seemed to be paying off. In every engagement that Omega Company had been in, he had seen comrades exhibit valor. He had seen men run at the enemy, screaming, pouring hot lead from their weapons - in the name of honor, of family and friends lost, and in the name of humanity itself.
And every one of them had met the same fate. Each one of the soldiers he had seen rush into battle courageously had been slaughtered mercilessly by the Covenant. He had seen one man kill seven SpecOps elites before a plasma grenade - the downfall of Demitri’s leg - landed on his helmet and exploded, vaporizing his entire body to atoms.
That was what he feared. Alan wasn’t a coward, per se, but he most certainly did have an immense fear of pain. He feared feeling the boiling plasma corrode his armor and eating his skin away. He feared waiting to die while an Elite commander stood over him, blazing energy sword in hand. But most of all, he feared the consequences of his failure. He was appalled each time he imagined what would happen if Omega Company didn’t live up to its mission parameters - to defend the colony of human refugees from Earth on Chi Ceti IV.
The fact that the commanding officer of Omega Company, SPARTAN - O255 Leo was a touch less than sympathetic only bolstered Alan’s fears of failure. Once, in a discussion that may have been influenced by liquor, Leo explained the nomenclature of their company.
“Do you know the Greek alphabet, three-four?” Alan had put down the book that he was inspecting. “Of course, sir. Alpha, beta, gamma…”
“Yeah, yeah. You know what letter comes last?” Alan tried to think back to his education during training. He struggled for a moment to picture it in his mind, and then it popped into his head.
“Omega?” Alan half-questioned. “Damn right,” Leo replied. “But do you know why they call us Omega?”
“No, Sir.” Alan was at a loss for words. “Because, three-four, we’re the last hope for these people – they have lost everything, and we’re all that stands in the way of them losing their lives.”
He made his rounds through their makeshift camp, checking on the men wounded during the last engagement - the one where he crushed the Jackal’s skull. As Alan made his way over to SPARTAN -O109’s cot, he checked his vital signs on a datapad. He was leveling off; his wound was instantly cauterized by the heat of the explosion that caused it, and for now, the only worry was that he would go into shock.
“Are you feeling at all better, Demitri?” The wounded Spartan ran a gloved hand through his short, brown hair. “Well, chief, since the medics gave me morphine, I’ve been doing great.”
“That’s good,” Alan responded. He immediately thought back to that last fight. It was the third engagement of that morning, and the most recent one as well. He could remember the entire thing very vividly. In fact, Alan’s exceptional memory was often the cause of a lot of his stress; he remembered, with an incredible level of detail, smells, sounds, and emotions. He remembered perfectly seeing the small blue glob of plasma arc through the air and land three feet from Demitri’s right side. He remembered even more perfectly watching his comrade dive to avoid the explosion of the grenade. And most chillingly, he remembered the scream that Demitri issued as his right leg was vaporized up to the knee.
Alan blinked, and it was all gone. He opened his eyes to find himself standing back in front of Demitri’s cot, datapad still in hand. He looked down to the device to find that the screen was cracked and blank. While reminiscing the terror, he had crushed the instrument with his hands.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re feeling better, Demitri,” Alan said awkwardly. “When we get you to a real hospital, we’ll set you up with the guys from cybernetics. They’ll get you back out here in no time.” Demitri gave him a mischievous smirk. He loved to fight - killing Covenant forces seemed to be what he lived for. Alan tossed the broken datapad over his shoulder and into a pile of junk, and continued his walk around the improvised base.
Although he wasn’t the commanding officer of the battalion, SPARTAN - O34 Alan couldn’t help but feel like everything in the conflicts they weathered was his responsibility. He felt each and every wound received by each of the Spartans of Omega Company, their fears, their triumphs, and their pains. And there were his own problems, plentiful and deep.
Alan was terrified. He had been scared of this whole thing from the beginning; from volunteering for the SPARTAN-III program as a child, to basic training, to the day he went into surgery for his physical enhancements. Even though his bones had been grafted with carbide ceramic composite and he was wearing the legendary MJOLNIR Mark VI Armor, of which each suit cost more than an entire UNSC frigate, Alan couldn’t bring himself to be brave. Nothing could make him not fear battle, or the onslaught of the Covenant war machine - and yet his cowardice seemed to be paying off. In every engagement that Omega Company had been in, he had seen comrades exhibit valor. He had seen men run at the enemy, screaming, pouring hot lead from their weapons - in the name of honor, of family and friends lost, and in the name of humanity itself.
And every one of them had met the same fate. Each one of the soldiers he had seen rush into battle courageously had been slaughtered mercilessly by the Covenant. He had seen one man kill seven SpecOps elites before a plasma grenade - the downfall of Demitri’s leg - landed on his helmet and exploded, vaporizing his entire body to atoms.
That was what he feared. Alan wasn’t a coward, per se, but he most certainly did have an immense fear of pain. He feared feeling the boiling plasma corrode his armor and eating his skin away. He feared waiting to die while an Elite commander stood over him, blazing energy sword in hand. But most of all, he feared the consequences of his failure. He was appalled each time he imagined what would happen if Omega Company didn’t live up to its mission parameters - to defend the colony of human refugees from Earth on Chi Ceti IV.
The fact that the commanding officer of Omega Company, SPARTAN - O255 Leo was a touch less than sympathetic only bolstered Alan’s fears of failure. Once, in a discussion that may have been influenced by liquor, Leo explained the nomenclature of their company.
“Do you know the Greek alphabet, three-four?” Alan had put down the book that he was inspecting. “Of course, sir. Alpha, beta, gamma…”
“Yeah, yeah. You know what letter comes last?” Alan tried to think back to his education during training. He struggled for a moment to picture it in his mind, and then it popped into his head.
“Omega?” Alan half-questioned. “Damn right,” Leo replied. “But do you know why they call us Omega?”
“No, Sir.” Alan was at a loss for words. “Because, three-four, we’re the last hope for these people – they have lost everything, and we’re all that stands in the way of them losing their lives.”
Thermopylae Now - Revised and Expanded
After several months of consideration and revision, I present you, reader, with an updated and digitally remastered version of Thermopylae Now, the fanfiction posted on Halo.Bungie.Org last April. Those of you who read it in its earlier form will recognize the first two chapters - they remain very similar to their first publishing. The third chapter, however, is entirely new.
Without further ado, I am pleased to present to you Thermopylae Now.
Without further ado, I am pleased to present to you Thermopylae Now.
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