Chapter Thirty-Five: Making a Soldier

1250 Hours, September 27, 2564 (Military Calendar) \
Nemesis III, Omicron Laurentian System

Camp Geronimo, near Portus Illuminatus, Terra Flammae Subcontinent

"Again!" the voice of Master Gunnery Sergeant Friederich Keller screamed into Robin Ambrose's ear.

Robin grabbed the BR-55 battle rifle on the table in front of him and, with deft—but quick—movements; he disassembled the weapon in six seconds flat.

Keller reached into his pocket and drew out a single round of ammunition for the battle rifle and placed it on the table in front of Robin. "At my order, you will reassemble the weapon, load in a single round of ammunition, and then you will turn and fire at the target down the range without hesitating. I will be watching and timing you," Keller set his watch timer to zero and, after a brief pause, shouted, "Mark!"

Robin's hands were a blur as he grasped every piece of the disassembled weapon, slotting them into their respective places and locking them in. After a few seconds, he slid the scope into its groove on the top of the stock. He grabbed the single round of ammunition and manually slid it into the firing chamber, locking it in and flicking off the safety.

The twelve-year-old was already standing up as he brought the battle-rifle to his shoulder. He whipped around, facing down the range at the targets, aimed at his designated one—distinguishable by its bright green trim—and squeezed the trigger.

"Time!" Keller stopped his watch and glanced at the number. "9.37 seconds…better than your last time, but it's not hard to improve on garbage. Let's see your accuracy," the sergeant cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted out to the groundskeeper, who was out cleaning and refurbishing another one of the targets. "Hey, Moose! Check the Green for me, will ya?!"

Willard 'Moose' Mousset, an elderly man with a slight accent—French, Robin thought—straightened up and casually flipped Keller the bird. "Anything for your lazy ass, Master Gunns!"

Keller allowed himself a quick chuckle at the groundskeeper's trademark good manners.

The grassy firing range in Camp Geronimo was empty at the moment; most of the active soldiers were out in a battle simulation on the far slopes of Mount Mazama, giving Robin the perfect opportunity to be given weapons training. It had been this way for the past nine days; heavy physical training, or 'PT' for short, every morning at daybreak, then the rest of the late morning in a room with other men training to be officers. There he learned about basic strategies, tactics, reading men through their expressions, voices, and actions, and many other aspects of battle which he had not known existed. In the afternoon, he would hit the firing range until evening, where there would be more PT until the sun went down. After that, there was dinner on good days and nighttime stealth simulations with the instructors on bad days. Then he got to bed, sleeping through what remained of the night before being woken up by Reveille before dawn to start the whole routine over again.

And throughout the entire day, training and supervising him at his side for the whole time, was Master Gunnery Sergeant Keller. He was a tough and merciless man, but he was also a fair man. He would not ask the impossible; he took great care to ask for just a hair short of that. He never relented on the twelve-year-old, and Robin had enough sense not to lash out; with strength like his, he could easily kill the sergeant.

"Just made it inside the innermost ring!" Moose called back from the target Robin had just fired at. "Not the bull's-eye; the one around it!"

Keller let out a grunt. "Not bad…" he reached up to his face and scratched the dark stubble which was beginning to dominate his chin. "Heh…not bad at all… Are you aware of the fact that the target was moved a hundred yards back and several to the right while your back was turned?"

"Was it?" Robin turned back at gazed at the target again, remembering how he had fired his first time compared to his second go. "Oh yeah, I guess you did…I just turned and shot like you told me to; I didn't really notice right then."

Keller let out another harrumph. "You learn pretty damn fast, kid…considering nine days ago you didn't know one end of a rifle from the other; you've learned pretty fast…must be the genes. Whether you want to be or not, you're definitely a soldier…"

"Does this mean I get the rest of the afternoon off?" Robin asked in a hopeful voice.

Keller nearly laughed in the younger boy's face. "My hairy, chiseled ass it does, kid. Just because you've gone and done it well twice doesn't mean you'll do well for the next twenty-eight times today. Get the hell back to your station and disassemble your weapon."

And that was how Robin spent the rest of his afternoon; disassembling and reassembling his battle-rifle, aiming and firing at the target, and disassembling and reassembling some more. The target moved most of the time while his back was turned, but every so often it would remain in the same spot, keeping Robin's mind open, keeping him from sliding into routines. By moving the target every time, it forced him to gauge his shot based on what he immediately saw, not based on how he had fired the previous time. In a firefight, a hostile shooter would not be stationary, so neither was the target.

Just as Robin sat down to disassemble the battle-rifle for the thirty-second time, his routine was interrupted. A mottled green army jeep pulled up outside of the firing range and came to a halt. The person in the driver seat hopped out. He was a shorter person with jet-black hair and fair skin. He was dressed entirely in black as well; black pants, black boots, black t-shirt, and a black jacket. The jacket had a hood which could be pulled over his head, and he also had a dark balaclava which would serve obscure the face, though he wore it around his neck. It was not casual dress; this was how someone dressed when he was going into the field…when he was going into the field and did not want to be seen. He took off the sunglasses obscuring his mischievous blue eyes and flashed Robin a wide smile. He opened the gate to the firing range and approached Keller and Robin.

Robin recognized him in a heartbeat.

"Well, well, well…you guys must be lowering your standards, Master Gunns," Blaze quirked to the Master Gunnery Sergeant, barely suppressing a chuckle.

Robin, who never had been a quick or sharp speaker, was left staring for several moments, his jaw working to say words which he had not yet thought of, before he finally managed to say, "Well, at least I don't look like I'm wearing a Halloween ninja costume from a cheap-"

"Oh, just shut up and hug me already," Blaze rolled his eyes and grabbed Robin, dragging him into a huge, crushing bear hug. Robin returned the embrace with enthusiasm, prompting Blaze to grunt in pain as the younger boy's augmented strength nearly bruised his ribs. "Watch it; I just got out of the hospital!"

"Sorry," Robin released his hold, stepping back and eyeing up his friend. Blaze looked much healthier than he had several weeks ago; there was color in his flesh now, so say the least. "You recovered fast."

"Kick-ass immune system, we go way back," Blaze chuckled. "But yeah, the strain from the laced bullets that I was infected with was actually an older strain which was never formally used by the Magistarium...that explains why we've never seen it before. On the flip side, because it was so obsolete, all it took was for the doctors in the hospital to unleash an apocalypse of antiviral drugs into my body for a few days. I was just cleared for duty yesterday, right before Jess, Nathan, and the rest of their Spec Ops team got back from the Mygall Region…and just in time for your first field op."

"What?!" Robin exclaimed. His eyebrows furrowed in a confused frown as he took in what Blaze meant. "You can't be serious; you guys are sending me into the field after only a week of-"

"There is little we can do to train you here that we have not already done," Master Gunnery Sergeant Keller interrupted gruffly. "You could take a bar of iron and tie it into a knot if you wanted to; doing push-ups or PT won't make you break a sweat, either. Hell, we could probably let you run around the entire perimeter of the forests around Mount Mazama and you still wouldn't break a sweat.

"That's over a hundred miles…" Robin sounded slightly doubtful.

"The point is, the only way for you to be properly trained at a camp like this would be by other Spartans," Keller explained. "And the only Spartans still in existence are probably fighting the Magistarium's forward invasion forces. They've attacked a couple more UNSC colony worlds and a main hub world…but the point is that there are no Spartans here. No one here can match you in strength or speed, so the next best way to train you is to send you in on an operation. Colonel Robertson and the Illuminatus have both agreed that experience will be the best teacher; there will be no arguing this."

Blaze cleared his throat and got back to the matter at hand. "We're gonna be heading out tonight, Master Gunns. I'm here to take Robin off your hands."

"Aight," Keller nodded. "We were just about done here, anyhow. Remember what I've taught you, kid. Don't fuck up and get everyone killed and you'll be just fine."

"Thanks…" Robin muttered, walking off with Blaze and climbing into the jeep.

Blaze hopped back into the driver's seat and started the engine. He hit the power and the jeep began to drive off. "Goin' too fast for ya?"

"Yeah…" Robin sighed. The twelve-year-old laced his fingers back behind his head and relaxed back into his seat, watching the camp pass by and grow more and more distant as Blaze drove the jeep out into the forest. "Yeah…I mean, all I want is to see my mom and dad again, but now they're forcing me to fight and overthrow an entire government… Have you ever had that feeling…that feeling like you're just a pawn? Like people pretend to care about you just because they know you can do a lot for them? Your leaders are better than the Magistrate, don't get me wrong, but I'm just a tool to them. I've only had nine days of rudimentary training, and now suddenly I'm getting tossed right into the thick of things…I don't think I'm ready."

Blaze cocked an eyebrow, glancing at Robin briefly before returning his attention to the roadway. "I…um…meant was I driving too fast for you…but yeah…you have a point."

"Where are we going?"

"Special Operations HQ," Blaze replied. "It's—you guessed it—an underground facility built into the White Shoulder."

"The what?"

Blaze grunted. "Right…keep forgetting you're not from around here. See that white rock face up ahead through the trees?"

Even though the late afternoon light was fading into evening, Robin wouldn't have had any trouble seeing even at nighttime. He looked further ahead, above the treetops of the forest. Sure enough, dead ahead and several thousand feet up the slopes of Mount Mazama, there was a large cliff face which jutted out in a wide overhang, composed of a distinct white rock. "Is that marble?" Robin asked, curious.

"I…" Blaze glanced briefly himself, scratching his head in uncertainty. "That's actually a good question; I don't know. Never really thought about it. Marble comes from limestone, though…and if there were a layer of limestone up there millenia ago, Mount Mazama would have done wonders to morph it when she was an active volcano…interesting…"

Blaze kept his foot pressed down on the power pedal, taking the jeep ever deeper into the forest. There was no actual road or pathway through the forest to Special Operations HQ, but the forest had enough space within itself to allow a smaller transport to drive through without too much trouble. Anything larger would have to be airlifted by a pelican or an albatross dropship.

"How are we going to get all the way up there in this?" Robin asked several minutes later as the slopes of Mount Mazama drew near.

"We're not driving up the slopes, if that's what you're asking," Blaze replied. "There's a cave coming up soon…you'll see." The black-haired thirteen-year-old kept his attention fixed ahead of the jeep for another few minutes. After a little bit, he relaxed a tad and gave an audible yawn. "So…I remember getting shot in the South Mire Ghetto," he began, speaking what had been on his mind for the past few days. "I remember waking up again in the Ghetto Safehouse, then the strain from the laced bullets got into my system. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the ICU in the hospital in Portus Illuminatus. I've got quite a few gaps to fill in."

Taking the hint, Robin sat up and brushed a stray lock of hair from his eye, recounting everything that had happened since Blaze's downward spiral in the Ghetto Safehouse.

Blaze listened intently with the ear of a seasoned listener. "You guys seriously went through a sewer?!" he interrupted at one point, surprise and disgust thickening his usually-light Irish accent.

"You got to ride in a box; Jess and I had to rough it out and actually swim in the…stuff…" Robin shuddered, locking those particular memories away onto a high, dusty shelf. Hopefully he would never have to relive them again in his lifetime. "Then we got to the Northern Safehouse and joined Nathan and Sean…"

Blaze let out a sharp laugh. "Gingersnap was there? That must have blown over well…"

"Ginger?—oh yeah," Robin chuckled as he remembered the collective nickname everyone had for Sean. "Yeah, no one seemed to like him too much…then Nathan told me what happened between him and Jess during that botched mission."

Blaze made a pained face at the mention of the mission which had taken the lives of three of his comrades. "Yeah…I was there on that op…it was pretty bad. Sean's never apologized for his cock-up… Don't you ever feel sorry for that little prick; he doesn't care."

The jeep reached the cave Blaze had mentioned as Robin was describing the train ride into Hatcherville. "Sorry to interrupt the story, but we're here," the thirteen-year-old informed Robin as he pulled up to the cave. He flicked on the jeep's lights and proceeded into the cave, though at a greatly reduced speed.

Stalactites and stalagmites speared up from the ground and down from the cave ceiling respectively, moisture glistening along their length and water dripping off their tips. The cave was wide and tall enough for the ceiling to be obscured by the darkness in some spots. The headlights served only to illuminate the ground right in front of the jeep; the rest of it was swallowed up by the inky blackness of the cave. Even Robin had some trouble seeing through it.

There were thin beams of faint light shining down into the cave once every few blue moons, but they did nothing in the way of helping Robin and Blaze see. Not that it mattered too much, as Blaze already knew where he was going.

After a few minutes, the cave floor turned a different hue. Robin only noticed it because of his augmented retinas; to a normal man who was not looking specifically at the ground's texture, the change would have been impossible to pick up. Blaze, who had been looking for that exact detail, noticed it as well. He pulled the jeep to a stop.

"Hey, it's me!" Blaze called out into the darkness, "Get the laser out and hurry up!"

The cave did not answer vocally. Instead, a thin, green laser beam snapped into existence, coming from a sensor hidden away in a stalactite. It struck Blaze's eye and scanned it briefly before disappearing. Blaze was left blinking his left eye several times, wiping it with his hand. "Damn thing always makes me tear up…"

Whoever was on the other end of that laser must have been satisfied with its readings. The entire discolored section of rock the jeep was on lit up. A soft indigo glow seeped up from the ground and shot up into the ceiling of the cave above. The indigo light intensified and the jeep began to rise up into the air.

The whole setup was a huge grav-lift.

"Uh…" Robin started to say as the jeep rose towards the ceiling, but he swallowed the rest of his sentence when they hit the rock…and went straight through. The twelve-year-old smiled to himself. A hologram…

Now out of the cave, the jeep was now rising up through what appeared to be an artificially-dug shaft, extending straight up into darkness. Robin could now see what Blaze meant when he had said that they wouldn't be driving up to the White Shoulder. They were rising up through the base of it right now.

"Never ceases to amaze me how we can manage to raise up places like this, given our location and what we have to work with," Blaze observed, sitting back in his seat and propping his feet up on the dashboard.

"Well, you guys wouldn't be Spec Ops if you didn't have some sort of secret HQ like this, now would you?" Robin pointed out.

"Heh…" Blaze chuckled, conceding with a nod. "And you can't say 'you guys'; you're in Spec Ops, too. What, you thought we were gonna stick you in a tank crew or an infantry squad?"

"Well-"

"Hell no," Blaze interrupted, not allowing Robin to even begin his reply. "Naw, they'll be sending you out on moonlight missions with people like me and Jess. Best training you'll ever get, in my very humble opinion."

"Hmm…" Robin gave an interested hum. "Are all of those teams made up of kids, too?"

Another laugh from Blaze. "Nope, not by a long-shot. It's only rare when a team made up of only youths is sent in for a field mission. No, we work alongside adults."

Robin nodded again thoughtfully, but before he could ask anything else the jeep reached the top of the shaft. It must have been ascending faster than it felt like it had been.

The jeep's headlights reflected off of a metal surface—clearly a large garage-like door. The jeep, now at the top of the grav-lift, having ascended at least a few thousand feet, hovered in the indigo light, no longer moving up, but not moving down. It just hung there.

There was another glow come up from below now. It was different from the soft indigo of the grav-lift; this glow was a harsher bluish-white. Robin peeked over the edge of the passenger side, ignoring the stomach-churning drop, and saw a brilliantly-glowing energy bridge materialize a meter below the jeep. With the bridge in place, the grav-lift deactivated, leaving the bright aura of the bridge the only illumination in the shaft. The jeep, no longer held aloft by the now-absent indigo light, fell down onto the energy bridge a meter below. The vehicle bounced on its suspension when it hit the energy bridge, but was otherwise fine.

The metal door gave a whirring noise and then slowly slid away into the ceiling, revealing a well-lit hangar bay at least a square-mile large. Blaze killed the jeep's lights and hit the power pedal, moving the vehicle forward along the bridge of light and into the hangar. The bridge faded into darkness as the door slid back closed.

The hangar was filled with pelicans, warthogs, and mongooses; all three used most commonly in Spec Ops missions out in the field. Pilots and technicians were hovering around the vehicles like bees around honeycombs, inspecting engines and weapons systems, making repairs, touching up. It was rectangular and at least a square mile large. One of the long sides opened up into the air outside; the red-yellow clouds and the hellish peaks of Terra Flammae were all too visible through the large opening. Blaze said that, although they could see through to the outside, from the outside it would just look like a normal section of cliff face. Now that is an impressive hologram.

Men clad in casual wear also hung around the vehicles, playing poker or simply sleeping. There were a few adolescents mixed in with them as well, partaking in most of the activities of their grown-up counterparts.

"Those are field operatives who are between assignments," Blaze gestured to them as he drove the jeep around the perimeter of the hangar towards another set of double doors set into one of the sides of the hangar. "Usually they can spend a few weeks or months in the city once they complete their last op, so they must be due for another mission soon."

Blaze kept on driving until they reached the doors leading into the rest of the Spec Ops HQ. He pulled the jeep over and shut off the engine, hopping out.

Robin climbed out himself and joined Blaze as he was pushing open one of the doors.

"Come on, this way," Blaze gestured for Robin to follow. The thirteen-year-old operative led Robin down the wide corridor beyond the doors and through several smaller, outlying hallways. On the way, they passed several other operatives, all of whom gave Blaze a handshake or a clap on the back, followed up with exclamations of "Glad to have you back!"

Finally, Blaze stopped in front of a simple steel door labeled 'Briefing'. He pushed it open and invited Robin inside.

The room on the other side of the door was a small, square room with a round table in the center and a holo-screen taking up one of the walls. There were nine individuals sitting around the table. Among them was Jess, whose face lightened considerably when she caught sight of the new arrivals. Nathan and Sean were present as well. There was another youth; a shorter brown-haired boy of fourteen or fifteen. There was also a tall, lean, dark-skinned man with a shaven, shiny scalp; there was a shorter, black-haired woman with a large nose; she sat next to a short, nearly plump Asian man wearing glasses; who in turn sat next to a medium-sized, bright-eyed man with the beginnings of a beard, and last of all; a pale, jumpy man with short yellow hair and acne on his face. He looked like a bag of nerves the way he sat, flitting his gaze all around the room.

Standing up next to the holo-screen was none other than Colonel Lionel Robertson, the head of Special Operations under the Illuminatus. "Glad you both could join us," the colonel nodded to Robin and Blaze before turning back to the nine operatives around the table. "I believe you all are familiar with Blaze, here."

Laughs and smiles came from all around the table—except from Sean, naturally.

"You escaped capture, then, obviously," the large-nosed woman observed, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile.

"Your powers of observation still have yet to fail you, Judith," Blaze agreed, before adding, "Which is good, considering you've always been the team's scout."

"We also have a new arrival today…" Colonel Robertson gestured to Robin. "Robin Ambrose, just out of training. Nine days with Sergeant Keller and he's well ahead of most normal soldiers…so now, the powers that be have deemed that the best way to train him is to send him out with you."

"How is that possible?!" the black man exclaimed. "I mean, I got through Basic alright compared to most of the others, which is why I'm here and everything, but I was never able to fly through it in a few days!"

"Your point is sound, Ishmael," Robertson nodded. He reached into his back and drew out a short iron crowbar which he had brought for specifically this purpose; proving to the operatives that Robin Ambrose was no normal twelve-year-old boy. He tossed the bar to Robin, who caught it, and said, "Impress them."

Robin first flattened out the crowbar by bending back the curved-over bit at the end, giving him a straight rod of iron. He then set both hands at both ends of the bar and, without too much effort apparent on his face or body, tied the metal bar into something resembling a square knot.

Murmurs and impressed whistles arose from the table. "What's your name again, boy?" the black man, Ishmael, asked, surprise and awe softening his voice.

"Robin," the twelve-year-old answered quietly, slightly nervous under the fixed gazes of eleven people.

"Shit…kid's got some skills, I'll give him that…" the man with the scruffy chin chuckled. More murmurs of agreement from the table. Robin's face flushed red with embarrassment at the praise.

"So he can bend metal, big deal," Sean's sardonic, higher-pitched voice cut through the rest of the table. "Can he shoot? Can he listen to orders? Can he not get us all killed?"

"Well, you have all of us beaten in that last category, Gingersnap," the Asian man retorted.

The men and women at the table clearly were not Sean fans either. Is he hated by everyone here? Robin thought to himself. He then shrugged. Seems that way… Considering what he's done...wouldn't be too surprised.

Sean rolled his eyes and fell silent, studying his fingernails.

"How in hell are you able to do shit like that?" the scruffy-chinned, bright-eyed man asked. "I go to the gym nearly every day and I can't even bend a nail."

"It's not physical," the Asian man, who seemed more and more to be the team's technical know-how, said. "Well, it is physical, but it's not natural. He must have been altered at a genetic level…you cannot be a Spartan, can you?"

"Come on, Li, the only living Spartans nowadays would almost be in their thirties," the fourteen or fifteen-year-old youth operative whose name Robin did not know remarked. "This kid probably doesn't even have any hair on his-"

"Okay, that's quite enough," Colonel Robertson took back control of the conversation. Even as he was still wondering how he had lost it in the first place, the colonel continued. "Robin Ambrose is the son of two Spartans who fought in the Great War. He has inherited their augmentations; he is strong as hell, he can see in the dark, yah-dee-yah-dee-yah, back to the matter at hand. He will be joining your team for this next mission. I expect he'll learn a lot from you. When we finally strike back at the Magistarium, he'll need to know how to fight. It will be your jobs to ensure that that happens. Anymore questions on that matter?"

There were none. Colonel Robertson told Robin to take a seat. The twelve-year-old sat down next to Jess. She flashed him a warm grin and blew him a kiss. His face flushed scarlet again.

"Now then," Colonel Robertson began, "you lucky devils will be taking a trip to the Jethro Region." The holo-screen behind him came to life and the lights dimmed. A satellite image of Nemesis III and its two main continents—Terra Firma and Terra Occasa—in their entirety appeared. The image zoomed in on the western reaches of Terra Firma. The outlying, obscured spur which was Terra Flammae was visible, but the image zoomed further in, focusing on the land right on the eastern side of the Haragannis Mountains. The Jethro Region.

"Your objective will be a fuel depot on a supply railway located here," a small red dot pulsed on the holo-screen, marking the location of said fuel dump. The image zoomed in far enough to actually see the snaking railways and the fuel dump right next to them. It was a medium-sized facility with armed defenses, but there was nothing overly special about it.

"What's the reason, and don't tell me it's to raise gas prices a few cents," Nathan interjected.

"Not at all," Colonel Robertson smiled again. "Tom Scully, the Watchman of the Jethro Region, has finally gotten confirmation that that dump is actually a weapons development facility. Destroying it would put a dent in the Magistarium's research and development, and it would also make any other facilities start to look over their shoulders in fear. Resources will be poured into shoring up security for other facilities like this...resources which would not be going into the invasion."

The team members took in and digested this information and gazed at the image, getting an idea of the terrain.

"Any sp-specific b-battle-plan?" the jittery young man with the acne and yellow hair spoke with a noticeable stutter.

"No, Eugene, there is not," Robertson replied. "I will be leaving that up to you, Francis; you're the team leader."

The bright-eyed, scruffy man gave a satisfied nod. He very much approved. Colonel Robertson was smart not trying to come up with a strategy from HQ, as the plan would solely hinge upon the location and the time, both of those being elements which could only be taken into account if the planner was actually at the location. The plan could also change at a moment's notice, so it was best not to get used to any fixed course of action.

"You will be provided with high-grade Class-6 thermite explosives," Robertson said.

"Ah, thermite…my favorite…" Ishmael, the bald, dark-skinned man, grinned. "Really gives doing demolitions an energy boost."

"Those explosives should be more than enough needed to knock out that facility," Colonel Robertson continued. "Once the job is done, you will proceed to your extraction point and report back here immediately. Francis," Robertson turned to the scruffy man, "I want you to be observing Robin. When you get back here, the Illuminatus and I would be interested in a report on his performance. Would that be satisfactory?"

Francis inclined his head in a nod. "Yes, sir, I can manage."

Colonel Robertson, having gone through everything relevant to the upcoming mission, wished everyone luck and closed the briefing. The operatives all rose and filed out, all of them, excluding Sean, nodding to Robin on their way out.

Jess and Blaze remained. "Come on, we have to get you prepped before we report to our pelican," Jess told the twelve-year-old. "Good to see you again, by the way."

"This way," Blaze led the way out the door and back through the corridors and into the main hallway leading from the hangar. The threesome turned down a different corridor and followed it all the way to its end, walking into the room at the far end. The room seemed to be a mix of an armory and a locker room. The other operatives from the team were already prepped, so none of them were in there now, but this is where they would normally gear up.

Blaze crossed over to a closed locker and opened it. Inside was a neat stack of black clothing. Black T-shirt, black jacket, black pants, black socks and boots, black balaclava, black gloves; all identical to what Blaze and Jess and all the others were wearing. Blaze picked up the clothing and tossed it to Robin. "Alright, strip and get these on; you're not going into the field in what you're wearing now."

Robin, who had been wearing a 'PT' T-shirt from Camp Geronimo and camo-pattern shorts, let out a quick sigh and obeyed. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and slipped into the black clothing. He stuck the balaclava and gloves into his pockets, tied the jacket around his waist, and finished lacing up his boots before he was done. Jess and Blaze then took him over to the weapons rack, where he selected a shiny battle-rifle, which was as black as his clothing, and a silenced berretta sidearm. There were other weapons on the rack, but the two he had selected were the two that he had practiced the most with. The berretta came with a leg holster which he strapped around his thigh and slid the pistol into, slipping the silencer into a secondary groove next to the gun.

Robin straightened up and walked back over to his two comrades and friends. "Well?"

"You look good in black, you know," Jess mused. "Contrasts with your hair."

Blaze let out a quiet cough while Robin cocked an eyebrow. "Well, maybe the Paladins and guardsmen will stop to take pictures for the magazines before they try to kill me," the twelve-year-old muttered.

Blaze held up his hands. "Hey, I just think you look fine. Black does wonders for most people; adds in an element of badassery…plus we do our ops during the dead of night, so it's also a necessity."

Jess, Blaze, and Robin all left the armory and walked all the way back to the hangar. The rest of the team was already there, loading the last crate of ammunition onto their pelican before climbing in themselves. Last to board was Francis, the bright-eyed, scruffy team leader. He had an MA6A assault rifle strapped over his back and a belt of grenades fastened around his waist. Jess and Blaze both climbed into the pelican, taking their seats and sitting down with the other team members.

The pelican's engines hummed to life and the dropship hovered a meter in the air.

Francis, seeing Robin still on the ground, held out his hand to the boy. "Welcome to the team, Rookie," the team leader said as he hauled the twelve-year-old into the dropship. "We'll make a soldier out of you yet."