"Come on Cap. Focus!" Barked the ODST drillmaster over the facilities' vox-caster. "You can do better than this!" The blasted sergeant wouldn't shut up! Just like any drill sergeant before him. But, he was right. Cap had the speed, strength, dexterity, endurance and spirit of a perfect athlete and perfect soldier. Yet for all his skills, his WW2 training had been less than perfect. Even the most hardened veterans of that terrible war would be made to look like raw and poorly drilled recruits compared with the elite operatives of the UNSC. And with such training facilities at their disposal, Steve could understand how that was possible.
He was inside of a simulator, inside of an artificial environment, just like on that strange TV show Star Trek. He blasted apart digital enemies and circular targets that would spring out at him from nowhere. Explosions from grenades exploded all around, so loud that they threatened to burst his ear drums. Thick smoke concealed much of the battlefield, concealing enemies and the terrain before him, concealing vital battlefield information from him, forcing Cap to rely on his instincts alone.
Munitions blasted all around, forcing him to go to ground. He had been struck in the side by strange pink projectiles, shot by an enemy he had not seen. He'd tried to strafe away from them, but they had still hit him. He could have sworn he'd seen the missiles turn and curve towards him, something which he knew was impossible.
The strange munitions burned him as they dug into his digital body, simulating the sensation of pain…too well for his comfort. The shrapnel hugged his side and bit deep into him, agony shot through his body as he tried to pull them out to no avail. Then he moaned in pain as the pink shrapnel in his side disintegrated spontaneously, opening up the wounds yet further. He could actually 'feel' his digital life blood oozing out of him.
If only he had had his shield. They had taken his shield from him, the main point of this exercise: Re-teaching him how to rely on other tools to survive. "Weapons don't need to pierce that shield of yours to kill you Captain. You cannot rely on it, you need to expand your combat repertoire!" If he couldn't complete the training programme, the UNSC would have no need for him: Not that such things had stopped him in the past. But things had changed since then. There would be new horrors of war, new dangers that he couldn't possibly imagine: That pink shrapnel for instance. He needed the UNSC, they needed him. Nothing else mattered right now.
He had been armed with an assault rifle, the basic rifle of their armies. This standard-issue rifle made everything from his era, and even those of the 21st century seem primitive. The rifle was like nothing he had used before. Impossibly light for such a stocky weapon. With very little recoil, yet hit its targets like a sledgehammer. Point, click, and kill. It was all that easy! If only war could be that simple. This simulation was testing him to his limits. Not since the Avengers missions had he been pushed so hard. The more he fought, the more the system he was plugged into learned. And the harder the simulation became. But he was on a high, war was exhilarating! A bad kind no doubt, but exhilarating none the less. His only anxiety: Passing the test.
As he was reloading his weapon, lying on the side of the foxhole, he spied movement out of the corner of his eye. A flicker in the atmosphere in front of him. Captain America had superhuman vision, more perfect even than that of the legendary Spartan's. He could make out a person, a shimmering figure. Legs, arms, body, helmet. The individual had to be colossal. Eight feet perhaps?
Then the figure materialised before him. "Watch out for cloaked enemies Cap!" The sergeant's pre-briefing rang in his mind. He had seen cloaking devices before. The S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Asgardian magic, Stark had even developed man-portable devices. The enemy was like nothing he had ever seen. Colossal and muscular, with ornate purple armour, similar to a Skrulls'. The face was what took him aback the most. Eyes like a demon, and four terrible mandibles riddled with teeth spreading out from a central maw, like something out of a horror movie.
A beam of light snaked out from the monsters' left hand with a hiss, as if the alien was wielding a coiled serpent. The Cap realised with a start that this was a sword. Made of, what was it called, plasma? The monster then spoke, in a language he did not understand. He shot at it, aiming for the creatures face, its only unarmoured point. The alien ducked. It was incredibly agile for something so large. It dropped onto all fours, and continued to babble in its indistinguishable dialect.
The elite's sword zeroed in on its target, seeming as it was pointing straight at his heart. Then the elite charged. Cap did the same, drawing his knife in one hand, firing as he went. The creature was too nimble to take out with a rifle, and seemed to be protected by an energy field. Any bullets that did hit home shimmered and disappeared, causing no damage whatsoever. H. G. Wells would have felt inspired!
"Waaagh!" he screamed as he ran forwards. Cap had superhuman reflexes, but the alien was so fast, it swung first. Steve deflected the blow with his rifle, he succeeded, the sword passing just millimetres from him. The rifle was torn apart by white hot plasma. Following through the charge, it kicked him, throwing Cap hard into the wall of the crater. He'd really got himself into a situation now! The walls of the foxhole were steep and the alien was fast. Winded, and with needler wounds in his side, he didn't think he could escape in time. Not before the alien sank its colossal sword into him!
Trapped. Only one warrior was leaving this crater. He now knew how the gladiators of ancient Rome felt! And all he had was his knife against this deadly foe. The elite marched forward, ready to meet his enemy in glorious battle. "Why doesn't it shoot?" Cap thought. It had a gun in its other hand, and Cap was a sitting duck. He remembered the Samurai, their eternal code of honour. The Asgard had been no different. Thor had never fought unfairly against a disadvantaged opponent. This alien had to possess a similar belief. If not, the simulation was about to end very quickly!
He needed a plan, the alien was moments from him. He spied a large rock standing between them both. He remembered his grenades, two frags at his belt. He had an idea, but would have to be quick. He sheathed his knife, and running forwards Cap went for his grenades. The elite stopped dead in its tracks, and Cap could have sworn that the creature was laughing. Cap threw his grenades, lobbing them high into the air, over the head of the alien. The creature stopped laughing. Grenades had landed just behind him. There was nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run.
Cap jumped, tucking his legs into his belly, creating as small a surface area as possible. The grenades detonated, showering the elite with high velocity shrapnel. Cap took no damage, shielded safely behind the elite's girth. Its conversion shield almost collapsed under the strain of the two explosions, and the force of the resulting shockwave pushed it off balance, warning sensors blaring away in his ears.
It was vulnerable now.
Presented with an opening, Cap hefted the large rock above his head. It was wider than the elite was, and just as heavy. He brought it down on the alien, hard. The blow collapsed the weakened shield and hit him square in the chest. The elites armour buckled under the attack, compressing the thorax underneath. Splitting bone, and rupturing tissue and organs. Yet despite having its chest cavity imploded, the elite did not fall. Almost as tough as a Spartan, the alien simply slumped onto his left knee, dropping its plasma rifle, supporting itself with his now free arm in a crouching position. Powerful hormones kicked in, and feeling no pain, it rose back to its feet.
Cap couldn't believe that the alien was still standing. His knife slashed viciously at the elites face, he wasn't about to give up the initiative. Two mandibles were taken off completely and another badly damaged. Feeling no pain, the elite stabbed with the energy sword. Cap evaded, anticipating the desperate blow. Strafed backwards, creating vital distance. He drew forwards again, and spying an opening in the aliens' frontal armour, he stabbed.
The six inch blade bit into the centre of the elite's chest with a thump and pop. Drawing out, Cap stabbed again, back up into the wound he had created, opening up the creature's chest. Feeling no pain, the elite grabbed Cap's neck, attempting to crush his throat…but the elite had already gone into shock. Its knees buckling, sword arm weakening, hanging limply at his side. Struggling to bring it back up he tightened his grip around Cap's neck and head-butted him, its few remaining mandibles tearing savagely at his face in fearless defiance.
"The sheer toughness of this alien!" He couldn't breathe, he wouldn't last much longer: He was already blacking out. So strong! He stabbed hard, at the abdomen, where he sensed the armour was weaker. The tough titanium blade penetrated the elites armour. Although nearly indistinguishable from hardened battle plate, Cap had aimed at a point constructed only of lightweight flexi-polymer. The blade connected with flesh and muscle, and the elite grunted with pain. The chemicals that had previously flooded its digital body were starting to wear off. Cap stabbed again, biting deeper into the elite. Its legs went weak, bringing the eight foot warrior to its knees.
Cap and his enemy were now eye level with each other. Each soldier snarling viciously. Eyes red and bulging, nostrils flaring, the elite raised its sword arm. Using its last reserve of strength. He didn't care that he may not 'kill' his enemy, or that his defeat had come at the hands of a human. Ahlahm'a Del'rahm was simply glad that his digital end had come at the hands of a worthy adversary, locked in honourable close combat!
Cap wasn't sure who was going to come out of this the victor. His knife was stuck fast. Another attack came, the sword! Cap tried to get out of the way…not quite. The attack grazed his thigh and destroyed his holstered pistol: His last weapon. White hot metal burned him, and his teeth clenched in terrible pain. He punched the alien hard in the face. It spat blood, viscera oozing from its tattered jaw. It slumped down a little further. Cap punched again, than grabbed the aliens arm throttling down on his neck. The elite groaned in pain, but for integrities sake, he would not let go. "Mustn't let go!" His eyes were growing dark, vision swimming before him. Nearly done now.
Using the last of his energy, Del'rahm came back to his feet, lifting Cap clean off the ground. Bellowing his war cry, he held Steve above his head, Steve kicking him as he went. Then the Del'rahm fell forward, slamming Cap hard on the ground with a crack! "Give the human its due," he thought. "He hung on to me at least." Then the elite passed out, his digital avatar finally succumbing to its terrible injuries.
Cap tightened his jaw and winced, pushing the dying aliens' massive body off of him. Then he stopped, gazing in wonder at the incredible enemy for just a moment. Yet, there was still a battle to be won. There were 'dead' marines in this crater, their equipment strewn across the floor. Wrenching his knife out of the alien, sheathing it and picking up an adjacent rifle, he thought back to his missions briefing. This weapon was called a Designated Marksman's Rifle. It was far heavier and longer than the assault rifle, and it felt sturdy and reliable in his hands. "Perfect!" Just like he was used to.
Lining up on the ridge of the crater, he quickly identified the enemies' positions. Covenant bogeys, eleven o'clock, ten o'clock and, nine. They had fallen back to their last position, their HQ. Cap could see the flag, his target. His objective was to capture that flag. Then the 'simulation' would end. The only other method to end it was by his 'death'. But even in the digital world Steven Rogers never gave up! That was what made him who he was. The most important thing.
He zeroed in on his first target. A swarm of stunted looking critters: Unggoy. There were three of them skulking behind a purple barricade. The weapon felt good in his hands. He aimed, adjusted, and fired. Two rounds struck it in the chest. The armour was tough, too tough for that. The weapon was only semi-automatic, firing single round bursts. A hail of green ionized plasma bolts and personnel-seeking needles hurtled towards him. He strafed right, and ducked, remembering the needles' tracking ability. He didn't make the same mistake twice.
A 'squad' of marines on his six was annihilated by a plasma mortar, their cauterised remains spreading out all around. The point of the simulation was to permanently funnel allied and hostile troops into this area until Cap either 'died' or captured the flag. He intended to do the latter. He zeroed his rifle again, back on the same unggoy. Still winded by the last attack. He couldn't compromise their armour quickly, even with this high powered rifle that kicked like a mule. Defying all his combat teaching, Cap aimed for the head of his target.
He fired a quick shot, knowing he only had a brief window of opportunity before another deadly salvo came his way. The grunt was dead before it hit the ground. Cap couldn't believe how realistic the physics of this 'video game' were as the alien's head exploded. He snuck down into his foxhole again. The accuracy of this weapon was uncanny. So long as he trusted the weapon and his own skills and body, every shot could potentially be on target. He darted back up, took aim. Two grunts: Close proximity. He shot twice, as fast as the weapon would allow. One hit, perfect. The other missed.
"Dammit!" Cap cursed. But lucky for him, the last survivor of the three didn't fire back. He remembered the poor training of these unfortunate conscripts, bullied into line by the larger Covenant species. But he couldn't pity a digital target, and whilst the alien panicked, flailing its arms above its head, Cap claimed another 'kill'.
Zero contacts: Eleven O'clock cleared.
He crawled out of the foxhole and sprant towards the covenant barricade he had just cleared. A couple of shots impacted just in front of him. Grunt were on his nine. They'd missed. He vaulted over the barricade. Safe. Looking around, he took hold of a dead grunt's needler. Firing blind, he emptied the weapon and strafed the ten O'clock position, hoping that the auto-seeking capacity of the munitions would mean that he didn't have to aim. A resounding explosion later, and cry of Covenant pain revealed that his guess had been dead on!
A light lit up on the alien weapon, a luminous button of some kind. Safe behind the barricade he pressed it out of curiosity. A full array of needles immediately sprang out of the weapon, held erect at the top of the weapon's barrel. "A liquid polymer flask lies at the heart of the weapon. When excited by an electrical field the liquid crystallises into unstable, but deadly munitions." What a remarkable principle! Cap fired again, emptying the weapon. All he had to do was lift his arm over the barricade and hold it still, which was incredibly easy as there was near to no re-coil. New explosions erupted over the enemies' position, but a hail of plasma bolts melted the gun in reply. The system was still learning! It was too dangerous to try that again. He'd now gotten the enemies attention.
Taking his rifle in two hands once more, he scanned the Ten O'clock position. Allied ODST's had distracted the Covenant survivors, and those contacts on his Nine had fallen back to cover them. He then saw banshees heading straight for them. In real life, he would have shot at the Banshees, trying to save the others before moving on. But this wasn't real, and before he lost his diversion, he took some well-aimed shots at the covenant positions. One elite fell, and three other aliens, Jackals? The elite's charge of Unggoy scattered, and the ODST's finished them off as they broke cover. Remarkably, they had somehow survived the banshees. One hostile left, another Jackal. Blood-splattered and shaken, it hesitantly zeroed in on Cap. Both soldiers aimed and breathed. But Cap had the fasted finger, and successfully counter-sniped the alien.
Ten o'clock: Cleared.
Then, just as Cap began to move, a stealthing elite hidden away behind him fired his plasma rife. And it was all over. A shot of pain, and his digital world de-materialised and disappeared. "Human after all Cap? I have to say though, that was an impressive display none the less." A grinning drill sergeant pointed out. "You certainly showed Ahlahm'a Del'rahm how to kick digital ass!" Cap was very disappointed with his performance. Damn sangheili. And damn their invisibility cloaks!
"I would have done better out there if I'd started with a team sir. I was a sitting duck throughout the entire exercise!" A now unplugged captain complained as he made his way into the observation box. It was an elaborate technology suite, filled to the brim with computer panels of every conceivable size. It had all but overwhelmed Cap when he had first walked into the facility, as large as an office floor. Dozens of intelligence workers, and technicians swarming all about like busy worker ants.
"Indeed you were, Steven Rogers." Came a powerful but intelligent sounding voice came from the back of the room. A colossal elite was climbing out of another control panel. Cap was stunned, recognising the alien immediately. This was the elite he had faced in the foxhole. The very same!
"You!" Cap gasped in complete shock. "I indeed! Please calm yourself soldier, for I mean you no harm." Del'rahm replied, flat and deadpan. "You stood alone during the battle, captain. For this is the point of this combat simulation. It is a trial that every trooper, marine and Spartan, must undergo in order to continue his training. It teaches, or reminds them, that a soldier is useless and vulnerable without his team mates. And that if you risk operating alone, you are undergoing a suicide mission."
Gunnery Sergeant Hill stepped forward as the alien breathed. "For that very reason Cap, the difficulty of the simulation is adaptive. For every millimetre you draw closer to the flag objective, the battle becomes more and more daunting. In reality, war is more dangerous even than the most severe odds inside that simulator. If you die for real, you are never getting back up. Never stand alone on the field of war." He paused, letting the information sink in. Del'rahm continued from here. The two seemed to be in league. Was this sangheili working for ONI!?
"The feats of the demon Spartan 2's are legendary, and inspired troopers will often attempt to follow in their footsteps. Trying to replicate their remarkable feats. Yet this ambition is recklessly misguided. For those small brace of achievements of those few, nearly every other Spartan perished. Spartans often operated alone, it was their downfall. Modern troopers must never make those mistakes. All soldiers must know the value of teamwork, and know the perils of operating alone. The result Captain? You perished, and I also perished."
Captain America rubbed his neck a little, and his side where the needles had hit. No physical damage, yet the memory was still there. "You've a strong grip Del'rahm." Cap replied matter-of-factly.
"And your knife arm stronger still. You would be interested to know that the crater where you encountered was an intentional trap. Most troopers never make it to the 'pitfall', much less leave it alive…it is not often that I meet a worthy adversary, Steven Rogers. I pray that we will have the chance to do glorious battle again, one day!"
Cap could've sworn he saw the alien smile. It was hard to tell with those mandibles. Cap couldn't help but laugh, this warrior was impossible! It was like meeting Thor all over again. "You'd make a great sparring partner Del'rahm. I mightn't be so lucky the next time I meet someone like you on the field." Del'rahm laughed in reply. His laugh was deep and loud. Again, much like Thor's.
"Such modesty! A very rare virtue amongst warriors such as ourselves. I imagine I have only just scratched the surface on your potential, Steven Rogers." Cap wasn't sure whether he was being complimented or not, but he simply bowed and smiled. "Gunnery Sergeant Hill, I must take my leave. I have other duties to attend to. Farewell Captain, I look forward to the day we meet again." And with that, he strode off, with all the incredible confidence which came so naturally to his species.
Sergeant Hill scratched his moustache, and sighed indignantly. Typical of the alien! "Oh well, I guess that ends my shift…what did you make of our resident cadet-master Captain?"
"He seems friendly enough" Cap replied matter of factly. "Hell of a left swing!" Cap then saw the drillmaster grimace slightly. How was Captain America supposed to know that Ahlahm'a Del'rahm was responsible for claiming the life of the very last Spartan on Reach? Noble Six. Hill had seen the footage himself. Killed by another 'hell of a left swing' no less. But that was all in the past. The enemy of my enemy and all that.
"Del'rahm is a powerful warrior. Loyal only ever to his people, never the Covenant. He was never very religious. He sees that his place is with us, rectifying the negative perceptions that people have of his kind, improving the relationship between our two peoples." He quoted in a tone of disrespect. It was clear the sergeant was torn over his feelings.
The sangheili had started the war, yet they hadn't commissioned it. The Prophets had been responsible for that. Cap knew the recent history of humanity now. It had nearly broken his heart. So many had died. So much destruction! Some people would never forgive the sangheili for the damage they had inflicted. Many Sangheili would never forgive themselves either. Cap was a soldier, he knew why he shouldn't hate the sangheili. Soldiers fought wars. It was nothing personal, just cold and unfortunate orders. He had met veterans of WW2. Japanese, Germans, Italians. Did he hate them? Of course not! Working together had the potential to do so much more good than bickering about the crimes of the past. And the Free Confederation of Sangheilos represented that at least some Sangheili believed that cooperation was good and possible.
"I have to say Steven, I was amazed by your performance!" Sergeant Hill continued, changing the subject. "We took you out of your comfort zone, and you performed outstandingly. You made it to the first bunker, 'killed' Del'rahm, and cleared the enemies' positions. Reading your neural patterns, it turns out that you even realised that that last elite was behind you, unlucky it shot you before you could react. You achieved all this without specialist equipment, and detected the elite without the auto sensors and motion trackers that modern soldiers have access to. Not to mention, excellent marksmanship under pressure, and remarkable adaptability to changing situations. I think we can expect you to fit right in amongst the UNSC Cap. There's nothing else you can really learn from me, save what you already have."
Steve was relieved now. He hadn't completed the exercise, but that hadn't been the point of it. The point was clear. He would need allies, just as he'd had the avengers in the past. What of these Spartans that everyone talked so highly of? They sounded like good men to have next to you in tricky situations. He was unsure about the future, but the sergeant filled him with a lot of confidence.
Then the sergeant's wrist computer bleeped, "You've got mail!" it chirped optimistically, just like every other machine here did. He read what it had to say, and sighed again.
"Looks like your time at basic has passed Captain. We've brought you up to speed on modern call signs, signals and equipment, as well as lectures on the aspects of modern warfare." It had been a long day. The galaxy was a dangerous place, he needed all the help he could get.
Steve winked at him, taking his hand and shaking it warmly. "Thank you Simon." He said simply. Sergeant Hill was a hard man. Practically no nonsense! "And thank you, Captain. Show those Spartans and Covenant bastards what you're made of! Go back to the research facility, a research team will be there waiting for you there. Good luck soldier, God speed!"
