Chapter One: Introductions

0100 Hours, June 8, 2547 (Military Calendar) \
Onyx, Zeta Doradus System

Camp Currahee

Spartan-III Alex-G004

I remember the sounds of nights on Onyx; those seemingly brief periods of time when the training camp was silent and the sounds of the forest penetrated the perimeter. Almost every day after the evening at the firing range and the frequent jog in the dark, Gamma Company would turn in to the barracks for the night. I would lie in my bed for several minutes, just soaking in nature's voice until exhaustion claimed me.

That was the case tonight as well. I dreamt of my first day here in Camp Currahee, when I was just a small five-year-old boy hungry for revenge against the aliens who had slaughtered his family and burned his world.

My world.

That had been six years ago and my family had been dead for seven. After six years of hard, brutal training I had all but forgotten my last name and even my family's faces—All I could remember was just feelings, emotions, and a great sense of loss and anger.

I had been singled out at a refugee camp by a few men in uniforms. I later learned that they had been operatives of the Office of Naval Intelligence, or ONI for short, and they offered me a chance for revenge. I took it without hesitation; I guess that was what they were hoping for.

I had been spirited away along with several other children a year older than me onto a small starship and ended up in the Camp Currahee parade field here on Onyx. There had been 410 of us then, until they packed us onto pelicans and had us jump out into the wilderness from high altitudes. That was our Selection. I remember nearly flaking at the door when it was my turn to jump, but I received a helpful shove from behind. The pusher's name was Samantha and we had been closest friends ever since; we were even placed in the same team together.

Sam and I had even kissed once two years ago when I was nine during a battle-simulation exercise in the forest. We had been sent ahead by our team leader to scout a possible route across the Twin Forks River. We found one, but had to wait until another team, which was blocking the way, moved off. I remember feeling bored out of my mind. I sighed and rolled over onto my side to face Sam. She did the same. We talked for a few minutes, but eventually ran out of topics. Then it happened. She leaned in close and I was lying there thinking 'What the hell?' at first until I caught on. I Leaned in to meet her and we—

BREEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

I frowned, sensing something wrong. There hadn't been any alarm when that had happened—what was going on?!

I stirred and opened my eyes groggily to realize that the blaring klaxon hadn't been a dream at all; it was happening right now. I swore quietly to myself, knowing what was coming next.

The barracks' door slammed open, the lights snapped on, and a blurry form strode inside, shouting at the top of his lungs. A deafening banging noise accompanied him. My eyes refocused and I made out Gunnery Sergeant Anderson wielding a metal trash can, which he was pounding mercilessly with a large serving spoon from the mess hall.

"Naptime's over maggots! Fall in and quadruple-time it to the parade field!" the Gunny roared as he made his way down the sleeping room's center aisle.

I scrambled out of my top bunk, avoiding landing on Robin-G227 who bunked below me, and slipped into my combat fatigues.

"Jesus Christ, it's one in the morning, what the hell are—" one of the spartans down the row began to grumble, but Anderson's gaze of steel snapped over to the owner of the voice and he quick-paced his way over, drawing his power-baton and delivering a painful shock to the unfortunate boy before he could finish his complaint.

The Gunny turned his gaze to the rest of us. "Anyone else in 'Q' Barracks have a problem with Lieutenant Commander Ambrose's little midnight playtime?"

"Negative, sir!" all the spartans of the three teams bunking in 'Q' Barracks chorused quickly.

Anderson cocked an eyebrow, regarding us with mock interest. "Are you all sure? It's alright if you feel the need to complain; my baton has enough juice for every one of you, so don't be afraid to speak up! Anyone else besides Randall in the mood for a little slice-and-dice of authority?!"

"Sir, NEGATIVE, sir!" we all replied, making sure we were much louder this time.

Anderson nodded, satisfied. "See you boys on the parade field," he said as he strode off, leaving 'Q' Barracks to terrorize another.

"Rapier, on me!" Tyrone-G083 barked. Ty was my team leader. He was of African descent with dark skin and a cross between round and almond-shaped eyes. He was a head taller than the rest of us and looked as ripped as a pro-wrestler. I personally thought he would make even Elites think twice before taking him on. I knew him as a tough, but calm and restrained individual. He wasn't afraid to put himself out there, but he also never lost his temper unless provoked. In battle he was level-headed and fearless, some of the qualities of every top-notch soldier.

I fell in behind him along with Sam, Robin, and Emma-G132. Together we made up Team Rapier, one of the 66 five-spartan teams in Gamma Company.

Ty led us into the other half of 'Q' Barracks; the armory. My teammates and I slipped into our body-armor plates and helmets. Our suits were similar to ODST armor, the only real difference being size. ODST suits were designed for adults; ours were for us 11-year-olds. I sealed my helmet and polarized the faceplate.

We grabbed our weapons, loaded with Formula-2016 tranquilizer rounds, which were harmless rounds that behaved exactly like live rounds, only they knocked the target out instead of killing it. They weren't made very much and were almost exclusive only to this training camp and several others. I grabbed my customized SRS99C-S2 AM Sniper Rifle and loaded it, taking extra rounds with me in my belt. Sam, Robin, and Em all grabbed BR55 Battle-Rifles while Ty took hold of his prized M90 shotgun and an MA5B Assault Rifle for backup

As Teams Falchion and Cutlass armed up, Ty lead us outside onto the dirt path that led to the paved road which ran throughout the camp and ultimately ended at the parade field. We took a short-cut and hopped the walls around the operations compound, cut through, and climbed out at the other side, leaving only the row of Instructors' quarters between us and the parade field. We quickly traversed those and strode onto the parade field.

We were the first team to arrive, followed closely by Team Saber, Team Claymore, Team Bayonet, and several others. We strode up to the trio of officers standing at the head of the field: Lt. Commander Ambrose, our CO; Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez, our head-trainer; and Gunnery Sergeant Anderson. How Anderson managed to get here so fast I'll never know.

Mendez checked his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Four minutes flat. Team Rapier, you are stationed in 'Q' Barracks, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Ty answered smoothly.

"'Q' Barracks is more of a distance from here than most of the other barracks, yet you got here first," Lt. Commander Ambrose noted with a faint trace of a smile playing at his lips, "Whatever probably-illegal short-cut you've been using, keep at it. In battle, mobilization rate is everything."

"All due respect sir, but while we were ordered to get to the parade field, how we got there was never dictated," Sam said wryly, "So technically, we disobeyed no orders."

Ambrose actually gave a half-smile and leaned in so only my team could hear him speak. "You are the first to think outside the box like that. None of us force you to use the road to get here, and in battle your commanding officer won't force you to take the paved road all the way to the battle that can also be accessed by crossing a rugged field. Not every order will be given to the letter in combat; it will give you the objective, but how you complete that objective is entirely up to you," the Lt. Commander then straightened up and nodded to us, prompting us to return to our spot among the rest of the Company.

Ambrose cleared his throat and I snapped to attention with the rest of the company. "Tonight—or I suppose I should say this morning—we will be having a Class Twelve training op."

A mix of reactions rose from the company; some groans, some sighs, but most were excited breaths. Class Twelve training operations here were war-games that pitted me and my fellow spartans against a unit of marines. This would be my tenth class-12.

"You will be engaging the 103rd Marine Battalion again," Ambrose continued, "Your objective is to take the flag in the center of their Battalion HQ and return it here, to the parade field before sunrise. Standard, simple, and direct. You will be facing a whole battalion of marines who may be tired of losing to us yet again, so how you secure the flag will not be standard, simple, and direct. Any questions? No? Good, then report to the pelicans."