Author's Note: Just a small note on updates for this story. I'm currently working both a full-time and part-time job, so free time is pretty scarce for me at the moment. :P Expect updates about once or twice a week for this story. Sometimes it may be more, and I'm going to try really hard to not let it be any less than that.

Anyway, here's the next chappy. Hope you enjoy!


Chapter Three: Step it Up

I woke up early the next morning at 0400 hours, and made my way as quietly as I could out of bed so I didn't wake Willis. I pulled on my PT clothes – a long-sleeved, gray UNSC-MC T-shirt and dark blue shorts with my last name stenciled on both – and some running shoes, swallowed the two pills I took every morning – one for the nightmares, one for birth control – then peeked in quickly on my kids' bedrooms. As I'd expected, all of them were fast asleep – a good sign that none of them, including Gabriel, had had problems during the night. Feeling more reassured, I left the house at a slow jog to warm up, planning to do my real physical training once I got on base. It was going to be a rough morning, but I wanted it that way.

Winding my way through the dark streets of military housing at this hour was a nice way for me to relax. I'd always loved running; it was perfect to get your mind off things. When I ran hard, everything else was shut out and I focused only on my breathing; the rapid rise and fall of my chest, the intense thrum of my pulse in my ears, and the pounding of my feet on the pavement. Before long – and with all the current frustrations I had to work out – I found myself running a lot faster than I'd intended.

Seventeen minutes later I was on base, sweating and breathing hard but pumped from the exercise. It wasn't something I was unused to; I did PT and ran six miles every morning without fail, just never this early, and never as hard as I was about to make it. To ensure that I was not, in fact, losing my edge, and that I absolutely would not return to the line of duty without being prepared for it, I made a pledge to myself: from now until we deployed, I'd push both my Marines and myself harder than ever. When we fought whatever it was the galaxy wanted to throw at us – former members of the Covenant, human rebels, or anything else it could cook up – we'd be ready.

I started by heading to the female barracks and stripping off my PT clothes piece by piece. I shoved them in a locker for now and pulled on my fatigues instead. Then I headed for the armory.

Going into combat as a senior Marine officer was different than when I'd been a platoon leader and then company commander. Technically, I wasn't supposed to be in the direct line of fire anymore, although that was always dependent on what type of environment and battle you were fighting in. Things could change in an instant in the field, something I knew too well, and no place, no matter how far back, was ever really that safe. Still, in recent years, I'd learned to brush up on my skills with mid- and long-ranged weapons as opposed to the assault rifles and submachine guns I'd enjoyed earlier in my career, and had come to the conclusion that the M395 DMR was my favorite. Just the right amount of kick, range, and rate of fire.

After putting on full gear – armor plates, pack, and everything but the helmet – I slung the rifle diagonally across my back before snapping on my web belt around my middle. I holstered my sidearm there and, satisfied I was all geared up and ready to go, set off outside again.

I ran five more miles that way, and it was a real bitch. Most of the way through my heart was pounding so hard I thought my chest would burst, and my lungs and legs were working overtime between all the added weight of equipment and the pace. Still, I pushed, determined to prove that I could still do it, that I was still a Marine through and through, and that no matter what, I wouldn't complain about it. I was here to do my duty, just like Willis had said, and I'd follow through like I'd always done - even if I had reservations about fighting colonials.

By the time I was done, I nearly collapsed in the big grassy training field on base, sweat pouring out of every inch of me, but I landed happily on my ass when I sat down and grinned.

I still had it in me. The fire wasn't out.


Before heading to the showers and then to my office, I finished up some calisthenics just as the sun was beginning to make its way above the horizon. I did push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups after taking just five minutes to recover from the run. Only then did I allow myself the luxury of getting clean.

I stood under the spray of warm water as I lathered up and rinsed for three minutes, timing myself. Over the last few years, I'd gotten way too used to constant hot showers – and long ones. The only times I went without were during our extended field exercises, where we'd spend a week or two training in the field. And those had been too few and far between lately, something I'd need to make sure I modified as of now. All the creature comforts I'd enjoyed post-war were things I needed to start getting used to not having again, before I was forced to go cold turkey on deployment.

After that, I changed into a fresh pair of fatigues and headed to the office. My aide, Staff Sergeant Joshua Porter – one of the only carry-overs from my former unit, Bravo Company of the 102nd Battalion, 603rd Infantry Regiment – was already there and waiting, datapad in hand. He saluted me as soon as he saw me walking down the hall towards the room.

"Major Cooper, ma'am," he said. "Good morning."

I saluted back and replied, "Good morning, Staff Sergeant." I gestured to the pad in his hand before going in. "Something urgent I should know about?"

"No, ma'am. Just more of the same old paperwork." He sighed. "Almost makes you miss the war, huh?"

I gave him a pointed look. "Be careful what you wish for, Porter. You might just get what you want."

"Ma'am?"

I took the datapad from him and began reading. There were updated files on everything from battalion personnel to training schedules to supply and logistics – all things I either had to deal with myself or delegate this morning to my company commanders. "You remember the Covenant, don't you, Josh?"

"Yes, Major. I do."

"Well, whatever temporary friends we managed to make out of the Elites towards the end of the war are no longer that disposed to humor us. I received word last night from the commandant that we're getting sent out again shortly."

The NCO's eyebrows shot up. "We're getting deployed again? Against the Covenant? Where?"

"Outer Colonies," I answered as I took a seat behind my desk. "I don't know when yet or how soon – or who it is exactly that we'll be fighting. I'll know more when I read this pending message the admiral just sent me."

"I uh, I don't know what to say, ma'am."

I glanced up at him again. Like all of us, he'd matured a lot in the last four years and was no longer the fresh-faced young corporal I remembered when I'd first met him, but a twenty-seven-year-old staff sergeant in charge of a squad of his own, when he wasn't busy helping me. I let out a sigh.

"Don't say anything then, Staff. Just make sure you send out these new orders to the battalion – tell them that starting today, we're altering our training schedule. We're going to work around the clock to make sure we're ready for whatever it is we're going to go face. PT will start every morning at 0500 with an eight-mile run; that'll be 0630 for today, given the hour. Twice a week, we do six miles in full gear instead. Then calisthenics, showers, weapons training at the range, obstacle courses and war games. Got all that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Then let the company commanders know. And tell them that today at 1400 hours, there will be a briefing for the captains and their XOs. Orders are in, Staff Sergeant, and we need to prepare to ship out."