-Chapter 3-
Beta Company
"You have been chosen, not because you represent the future of humanity, but because - in time - you will become something more. All of you are gathered here to undergo a selection and training process. One that will push you beyond your limits; that will break you down and rebuild you from the ground up. One that is harsh, unforgiving and brutal. One that, should you make it to the other end, will have crafted you from just mere humans into beings of unrivaled martial might, skill, tenacity and ingenuity. You will no longer be humans, but instead be Spartans.
"Those of you who graduate will be the tip of the spear. The blade that smites humanity's foes. The shield that guards all men and women. You will be the fist that strikes first. The hammer that crushes the alien and the foreign. The weapon of choice, and the symbol of might. You will be death made manifest, and your enemies will crumble to dust.
"The Spartans are fearless, and their home is the battlefield. So, too, shall this be your charge, should you graduate.
"The Spartan does not have an easy life. You will not grow old and attend school; you will not live in a house and work a job. You will not attend parties, join social clubs, nor achieve socio-political status. You will not be remembered; you will not be heralded, nor given the praise you deserve. You will not sleep soundly at night, full of the assuredness of a tomorrow.
"The Spartan's purpose is to fight. You will be weaponized. You will be armored and toughened and sharpened. You will be sent to face down the dark - to face down death - and you will not blink. Your life will be one of strife, hardship, destruction, warfare and conflict.
"The Spartan marches into the fire. The Spartan braves the depths. The Spartan crosses the gap. The Spartan does what can not be done.
"The Spartan accepts the inevitability of death, and anticipates it.
"Most importantly, the Spartan is vengeful. You will not show mercy to the Covenant. They have taken from you that which is most precious. They have robbed you of the life you were meant to have. And so it is that you live the life you were bred to have. The Covenant have trod over each of you; have broken your lives and laughed at you. They have shamed you. Burned your worlds, slain your families and shattered the peace you once knew. They have made you pitiful.
"Those of you who become Spartan will have your revenge. You will catch the Covenant and show them a ruthless hand. You will satisfy your vengeance in the blood of the aliens, and they will fall before you. You will end them."
December 27, 2537
0430 Hours Northern Standard Time
Stallhorse Forest, Onyx
Camp Currahee
Saint was still trying to wipe the blur out his eyes. It was too dark to discern much. Just a whole bunch of other kids lined up on either side of him, in front of him, or behind him. Shivering and cold, all of them wearing the same little jumpsuit and boots that Saint was wearing. And way out ahead of the formation, there was a big platform raised several meters off the ground. The spotlights on either side of it were the only things providing illumination. Saint didn't know what time it was, but he was sleepy. Had a headache. Felt like he'd only slept for a couple minutes before they came and woke everybody up.
He scanned around as he rubbed his eyes. Had to figure out -
- Down the line by a few meters, one of the drill instructors whipped out a stun baton and smacked a kid on the back of the head. So fast it looked like a whip.
"STOP MOVING!"
Saint immediately jerked forward and stood as still as possible. He realized the drill instructors were everywhere. The ones he could see, and the ones he could hear. Like a bunch of madmen. Saint felt as though he were a clownfish in a pit of piranhas.
"Recruits - listen up!" A voice boomed from the stage up ahead. Saint spotted a man he hadn't even seen move; as though the man appeared out of nowhere, taking up the stage as though he owned it. He was bigger than any Saint ever seen before. An upright rhino. With scars and a face that was both elegant and stony. Like he'd been built in a video game. A tank build. Crafted to a different magnitude of physical perfection. And his voice was inhumanly deep. Baritone and powerful. It shut up every single kid present.
"You are hereby officially inducted into the SPARTAN-III Program, Codename: Beta Company. There's a thousand of you here! But only 300 will make the selection and become Spartans."
That sent a bit of a ruffle throughout the crowd. But nobody said anything. Everyone was either too scared or too cold. Saint was a little bit of both. It hadn't been his choice to come here. But he didn't want to lose.
"My name is Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose - your head instructor and trainer. And this," the man pointed down at the ground. "Is my world."
The man - Commander Ambrose - paced to the forefront of the platform. He moved so quickly and fluidly that it seemed unrealistic. As though he were a hologram projection, put into fast forward and touched up with animated after-effects.
"Only the best of the best are going to graduate. Consider this your first impression. Now - follow my lead: Push-ups!"
The Commander fell to his hands and immediately began banging out push-ups, one after the other, and all the recruits followed suit. Saint hadn't ever been the most fit kid, but he could hang in there. Or so, he hoped. Commander Ambrose was like a machine, tearing through the push-ups as though it were as easy as breathing. They reached a count of 100 quickly... And Saint had long since gotten to the point where he could barely keep himself off the ground. His arms shook violently.
Dozens of other kids had given out entirely. And drill instructors swooped on them like vultures. Batons flickered in the dark. Backs were beaten. One of the recruits was outright thrown. Tossed like a pile of wood. The sight shocked Saint into newfound energy. He didn't want to get in trouble.
Commander Ambrose changed positions.
"Crunches! GO!"
This time Saint got to his back. Laid down on due-slick grass and began doing the exercise. Breathing so hard his throat got raspy. They reached 100 again.
"Squats!"
Saint scanned around for a second. He didn't see any instructors nearby. So he took a second to rest when he stood up. Made it look like he was just switching positions and trying to get his posture correct. An instructor swept through his row soon enough, though, and he only bought himself enough time to cheat out the first 15 squats. They hit 100 a minute or so later.
"STAND UP STRAIGHT!" Ambrose shouted then.
It was more than a challenge. Saint's bones felt like they'd deteriorated. Blistering pain spiked along his entire body - even his tongue. And each time he breathed, his chest felt it. Searing, vicious pain. And he didn't really have anyone to share it with. He had no idea where Owen was, and he didn't recognize any of the other kids. So he stayed as straight as he could, looking around to either side as instructors moved about. They were carrying passed-out recruits, some were swinging batons and hitting recruits, and others were snapping and barking at recruits to stand up "like a Spartan". A lot of blood was flying around, and a lot of crying was going on.
Then, there were gunshots.
Muzzle flashes lit up in the darkness. Just over the heads of the recruits. A bullet whizzed nearby, just over the head of another recruit. When the girl flinched and ducked, an instructor fell on her like a lion. Growled rabidly, pulled her out of line and smacked her head with a stun baton.
Oh my God. Saint snapped his eyes forward. One of the pistol-toting instructors came down the line, firing rounds just above everyone's heads. It took everything Saint had to stand still and keep from running. Even still, the instructor stopped just in front of Saint. Grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head forward. Viciously.
"Think you're tough, mutt!?" The man growled in his ear. "I asked you a question!"
"Aye, sir."
He shook Saint by the hair. It hurt so bad Saint wanted to cry. "SCREAM!"
"AYE, SIR!"
"SCREAM AGAIN!"
"AYE, SIR!"
He pulled Saint out of line and tossed him to the ground, then did the same thing for the recruit at Saint's lefthand side.
"Both of you, give me push-ups! First one to quit dies!"
Saint couldn't lose. Not if he was going to graduate. He started pumping out push-ups as best he could, competing against the other recruit for a chance to win. To survive. And the instructor barked at them the entire time. Even fired rounds right into the ground between them. Each shot, a powerful concussive pop that pierced even the background crescendo of instructors fighting with recruits. Saint closed his eyes tight, too scared to do anything but another push-up. And another. To the point where he started screaming of his own accord.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the instructor - and the other recruit - had disappeared. He looked around. Didn't spot either of them. So he scrambled back to his feet and stood at attention again.
Commander Ambrose stomped his foot twice on the platform. It shut everyone up - even the instructors. They all stood in silence for a minute. Until another team of instructors came from beyond the platform. They wheeled a set of carts up a few meters beyond the platform behind Ambrose. Saint had to lean to see past the rows in front of him. But he spotted the water bottles packed on the carts, and felt his lips part instinctively. His mouth and throat both had long ago turned into sandpaper. He needed something to drink. Didn't matter if it was water or oil.
"Seven hundred bottles of water here," Ambrose pointed to the carts as he paced back and forth on stage. "Means some of you won't get any."
Saint shifted on his feet. As did everyone else. He wondered what type of test they needed to pass. His answer came shortly.
Ambrose paused in his tracks. "What are you waiting for!?"
At that, the crowd broke out into a frantic scramble for the water carts. Chaotic. Desperate. Shouting, shoving, and punching. There were too many recruits - way too many. And a lot of them tripped up on each other. Fell to the ground in clumps and pieces and got trampled on. Noses were broken. Madness ensued. Saint fought and clawed his way toward the front, having already made up his mind to take two bottles of water if possible. But he had to get there first, and it wasn't easy. He caught an elbow to the forehead. Took a fist square on the chest. Felt nails scratching at his arms. Slipped and tripped to the ground several times.
Someone bigger and stronger shoved him to the side like a ragdoll. Someone faster and quicker slipped past him and darted forward like a dwarka squirrel. Someone more aggressive tripped him and several others up, crawling past them like a spider on the ground.
But Saint couldn't go out like this. Couldn't go out like a sucker. He scanned the crowd. There had to be a better way, he just had to identify it. Then it came to him easy - if he could get up there onto the platform, he could bypass most of the crowd. Jump off the other end. He'd end up landing on people... But this was a game Saint couldn't afford to lose.
He deftly rolled and dodged his way closer to the platform. It was supported by multiple beams, and wouldn't be that hard to climb. He just had to get started. That was the hard part, because there were other kids all over the place surrounding the platform and beneath it. All of them clawing toward the water carts. Saint had to push a couple of kids to clear a spot. Had to punch one of them. Had to kick another one. Had to wrestle the last one. But when he did, it was a simple enough matter to climb his way up top.
Nice.
Saint pulled himself up to get a look at the top of the platform. He didn't see Commander Ambrose.
But he saw another recruit. He hadn't expected someone else would have the same idea. She stood there, hands on her hips and a sly smile on her face. All confident and cocky.
"Nice try, but I got here first!" She said. Her nametag read Sindy-B129.
How'd she beat me here? Dang it. I don't have time for this.
He stuck out a hand. "Just help me up!"
She stuck out her tongue. "Nope! Commander Ambrose said there's not enough for everyone!"
With that, she kicked him in the head. Sent Saint tumbling back to the ground. He hit the top of someone's head then rolled backward until he faceplanted. Caught a mouth full of ice cold dirt and grass. Saint growled in anger and slammed a fist down. Stupid girl!
He spent the next several minutes trying to work his way back up to the platform. It took him a long time. By the time he got up there, Sindy was gone - and his energy was spent. When he made his way to the far edge of the platform, she was nowhere to be seen. And to his dismay, neither were any remaining water bottles. They'd been totally wiped out. He'd wasted too much time. Had lost. Saint stomped in anger. He would've gotten some water if it hadn't been for that Sindy.
The game wasn't over, though. He was going to have revenge, one way or another. He was going to get payback.
Over the course of the next four weeks, the daily routine remained roughly the same. The recruits would start out with intense calisthenics in the early morning, coupled with competitive games and challenges to weed out the less capable. Followed by a breakfast of bread and water. By midday, they would begin running drills. Endurance runs, suicide dashes, 100 meter sprints, 200 meter sprints, and team-oriented relay races. Afternoon was when classroom instruction began. Their teacher, an advanced smart AI called Deep Winter. Aside from the standard STEM fields, they were taught history, psychology, sociology, literature, Art and Art History, philosophy and even linguistics. Deep Winter said that they would be required to use their minds equally, if not more importantly so, to their bodies. That they would be both warriors and thinkers. And by the evening time, another round of exercise would begin. Weightlifting exercises, bodybuilding exercises, hand-to-hand combat drills and wrestling. By 2100 hours, they'd have their last meal of the day. Which typically consisted of nutrient paste, vitamins, crackers and water.
After that would be an hour or more of what the instructors called 'Indoctrination Studies'. The recruits would be seated in the camp's auditorium, where they would spend up to 2 hours watching films. Reels of combat footage from across human history. From the beach assaults of World War Two, to the orbital invasions of the Jovian Moons Campaign, to the great Admiral Cole's conquest of Harvest. Warfare. Covenant bombardment. Military propaganda. The importance of service to the UNSC. Officers talking about the importance of sacrifice. Officers talking about the denial of the self, in order to help foster hatred against the Covenant. Because the Covenant did not allow the self to prosper.
They were taught how to ground out emotions like empathy when dealing with the UNSC's Enemies. The value of achieving vengeance on the Enemy. Avenging those who've fallen to the Enemy.
The recruits would be given a long speech, every single night, followed by a different accompanying set of images and newsreels.
Beta Company's size began to drain in time. Each week, scores would be tallied up from the recruits. Those with the lowest were cut from the program. Some simply died in the harshness of the training. By the end of that fourth week, only 700 recruits remained from the initial 1000.
Today was Saturday, and Lieutenant Alex Truniht had his datapad in hand watching over obstacle course #9. A little tournament had been going on all this week. Pitting the recruits against each other to see who could come out on top. Get through the course first. Alex had been tallying up scores and keeping track of the obstacle course matchups all week. This early on in the training cycle, there hadn't yet been time for any true top performers to emerge from the recruit pool. Weekly scores still all over the place, for the most part. Nobody had made the weekly number #1 recruit spot twice, yet.
But some of the kids were starting to really make themselves known. Several of those had made it into the obstacle course tournament top 8... And two of them were about to go head to head.
"Who we got next?" Sergeant Bickers asked him. Without Bickers, trying to keep track of everything would've been painful, to say the least.
Alex looked up from his datapad to Course #9's starting platform. On one side was a small, short-haired girl. A little fiery one that, if Ambrose's suspicions were accurate, had been the cause of several power grid shutdowns last week. She stood up there, arms crossed and an annoyed look on her tiny face. Beside her at the other lane was another noteworthy recruit. A short boy with a head full of small dreadlocks and a devious look on his face. He was stretching his arms and bouncing on his legs. Ready to go. Alex smiled.
The boy had come a long way from that Stellarstride candy bar.
"That's Saint-B312 versus Kat-B320," Alex answered. He leaned back in his seat and took a sip of coffee. "Both of 'em are hotheads."
"Oh, that's the girl that cut my shower off three times last week, isn't it? Little runt," Bickers growled. He spat out a wad of... Some type of jerky he'd been eating. Then looked at Alex. "Ten credits on her."
"You been losing credits all week, bro," Alex reminded him.
"No way she loses to Saint. Boy's a cunning little bastard, but he ain't that fast."
"Ten credits it is, then."
Bickers laughed. Then leaned in to the microphone and activated it. "Recruits, Course #9! On your mark!"
The two kids got down to their knees. Glanced at each other for a second. Saint gave Kat a thumbs-up. She hesitated a moment, then returned the gesture.
"Get set!"
The recruits then perked up. Got ready to run. Alex pulled a massive bite out of his Stellarstride, then leaned forward and let his hand hover over the timer button.
"Go!"
Alex slapped the button.
Kat and Saint launched into a full-fledged sprint. Nice technique, too, with both of them lifting their heads as they built to speed. They reached the first obstacle - a simple rope swing - at the same time. Then they both clambered over a low bar, then a high bar, then leaped off a platform and landed out of sight into the mud pit. Kat had been edging ahead of Saint that whole time.
"This's a good one," Bickers said as he relaxed in his chair. He stuffed some more of that jerky into his mouth, then kicked his feet up on their communications desk.
They heard footsteps approaching from behind. Running. Alex wadded up the Stellarstride wrapping paper, shot it into a nearby trashcan, then swiveled in his seat. Expecting to see Lieutenant Jaggers. Instead, it was a recruit. Standing there stiff as a board and at attention. Alex didn't recognize the boy by face.
"How ya doing... Owen-B096?" Alex asked by way of greeting as he read the boy's tag.
Before he could say anything, Bickers immediately snapped to a standing position and closed distance with the boy.
"The HELL are you DOING here, OWEN!? DID I ASK FOR YOU!?"
"No, sir!"
"What the hell do you want, boot!?" Bickers barked as he paced around Owen, his face right beside the boy's ear.
"Sir, this recruit needs to use the latrine! Sir!"
Bickers looked up at Alex, and Alex had to fight the urge to start laughing.
Bickers gritted his teeth. "Get. The hell. Into that latrine. Before I break. Your fucking. Neck, ya little rat! MOVE!"
Owen snapped off a salute and flew out of the comms post so fast, Alex thought he saw dust fly in his wake. Alex broke out laughing.
"I gotta tell ya, Bickers," Alex said. "I don't know how you can turn it on and off like that."
Bickers slid back over to his seat and kicked his feet up again. A big-toothed grin all over his face. "Eh, I was here for the last company. The Alpha guys. Got a little bit of experience under my belt." The smile faded quickly. His eyes dropped to his lap. "Still can't believe they're all gone. God, those were some fine soldiers if I ever saw 'em. It ain't fair. They weren't but young teenagers."
"They're not all gone, Bickers. They're still making us proud."
He looked up. "Yep. Le's hope these guys... Well, let's hope."
As if on queue, Kat and Saint emerged from the pit area. Both of them covered in mud, filth and scratches. Both of them with determination in their faces. But Saint had gotten ahead somehow for the home stretch. Alex had no idea how. The both of them sprinted to the finish. And though Kat had just about closed the distance - she was a lot faster than Saint - Saint crossed the line first. The boy had a grin on his face as he threw his hands up in celebration, then held Kat's hand up as well and patted her on the back. Camaraderie.
"Deep Winter's been teaching 'em good." Alex smiled. "And you owe me ten more credits, Bickers."
Saint was in a crouched position in the shade. Waiting for his name to be called.
All this week, he'd been killing it across the board. For the most part, at least. But most definitely in the obstacle course tournament. They'd started out at around 700 participants on Sunday. That number had whittled down day by day. Saint had run into some stiff competition. Guys like Tom, Roland, Donald and Cierra. But his top 8 matchup had been Kat. Saint hadn't been so sure if he could beat her. She was... Tenacious. And quick. But with her down, Saint was confident that it would only be smooth sailing from then on. And his semi-finals race had confirmed that. The guy they put him up against had been one of the bigger guys, but Saint had outpaced him from the jump.
Despite all that, Saint's mind had only been on one thing specifically. Ever since day one.
Sindy.
All day, all night, he focused his efforts - not merely to graduate, but also on Sindy. Her red ponytail hair and red Martian eyes and that cocky smile. Saint still hadn't seen her since that first day, but he hadn't forgotten her face. And he wanted to even the score with her. Get some payback. Slake his thirst for vengeance. Show her just who she was messing with. Sindy was too clever to have gotten dropped this early on. So Saint knew she was out there. He just had to get her. Then... Well, he'd figure that out in the moment.
"Saint-B312! Get up here, boot!"
First though, he had a tournament to win. This was the finals. Saint sprang to his feet and jogged his way through a rocky pathway until he reached the starting platform. He did his usual routine of stretching, jumping and running in place. Even threw in a couple push-ups this time. He'd stolen a pack of Bitty-Beads from the mess hall that morning. Saved it all day up until Top 8. The sweet and tangy candy had given him a lot of energy, and he still felt a bit hyper.
He sighed. "Where's my challenger!?" He demanded. He was starting to feel like Overlord Ziborg.
A nearby instructor turned on him immediately. Smacked him in the back of the head. "Watch your mouth, boot!"
Ouch. Dang.
Saint rubbed the sore spot. Then finally, they called up his competitor.
"Sindy-B129! You're up!"
No way! Saint turned to look at the pathway. And sure enough, it was her. Running up, a look of pure ease on her face. As though this was just another moment for her. As though she were just going for a walk in the park. Saint watched her the entire time, mean-mugging and frowning and biting his lip. Then, he rubbed his hands together. This was the perfect chance to beat her. Humiliate her. All month long, he'd been waiting for an opportunity. A shot. Now, it'd finally fell right at his feet.
Saint pointed at her when she took up position beside him. "You're going down!"
She looked at him, her expression one of confusion. Then she looked back ahead and started doing her own warmup routine. Had that sly smile on her face.
"Y'hear me, Sindy!? You won last time. But this time, I'm gonna get my payback, you loser!"
Sindy looked at him again, that confused expression still on her face. She frowned. "Who're you? I don't even know who you are. Chill out."
"Hmph," Saint frowned. Faced ahead and got ready. She's trying to play stupid. Trying to play innocent. Omega-man used that same tactic against Overlord Ziborg. It won't work on me. Stupid Sindy.
"Recruits - get ready!" The comms post called out. Saint got to his knees, sidled into position. This was what he'd been waiting for. Not this tournament win, but to upset Sindy. All those push-ups, those morning jogs, those 1 on 1 fistfights, had led up to this moment.
"Get set!"
Saint lifted his head. Shook his hair out his eyes. He realized that a lot of instructors were standing along the sides of the course. Watching and waiting. Even the Commander had shown up. Even though the man was far off in that comms post, covered in shadow, Saint had no doubt it was him. Nobody else was that big and still. Nobody else had that type of poise and posture. Good, he thought. The Commander'll see me show her up.
"You're going down this time. Watch and see!" Saint got in before the race started.
"I don't lose, weirdo," she shot back.
"Go!"
Saint launched off into a sprint as fast as he possibly could. Pounded and pounded and pounded until he maxed out his acceleration, then lifted his head. Kept running, nothing but the thought of winning on his mind. He practically flew off the platform and caught the rope in his hands, swinging in a big arc to the next platform. Rolled as he landed, then kept up the pace. He made it to the first low bar faster than he'd ever done before, and slid over it in one smooth motion. Then scrambled his way up and over the second bar.
He glanced to his right. Sindy was right there with him.
Saint gritted his teeth and sprinted toward the edge of the next platform. Leaped off it without hesitation and got good range, landing deep on top of soft-packed mud and murky water.
The both of them made it to the underground barbed field at the same time. It was a series of bars, hoops and rails, all of them covered in razorsharp barbed wire. There was no good way to finesse this section. It had to be taken slow and methodical. And each time, Saint always ended up getting cut. He did so this time as well, cutting his left arm on one of the rails they had to cross. He glanced to his right again - and again, Sindy was right there. In fact, she'd gotten ahead of him by about a foot. Barely a distance. But still ahead.
That was fine. Saint could use the same trick on her that he'd pulled out against Kat. Up ahead, the last section of the underground field turned into a series of over-and-unders spaced about a meter between. On paper, recruits were supposed to duck and crawl through mud to get beneath the higher rails, and leap over the shorter ones. But with a good enough balance, Saint found that he could hop from one rail to the other. Get through the section way faster than the normal way. So he did it. Clambered and balanced himself on top of the first rail, then jumped his way to the next, and to the next. He laughed.
"Sucker!" He shouted. Just before glancing over at Sindy.
Expecting to see her well behind him.
Instead, she was doing the same thing. Flinging from one rail to the next. It caught Saint off-guard so bad, he stumbled and lost his footing. Slipped and fell into the mud. He didn't hesitate, though, and ravaged his way forward again. Determined not to lose.
But he'd lost too much time. Sindy emerged from the section a full three seconds before he did, and she made it to the rope wall three seconds before he did.
I'm not going out like this.
Saint, instead of going to his rope, ran over to hers. He leaped up - just high enough to catch one of her legs - and pulled her down. Sindy slipped and fell, landing right on top of him.
Oouuch!
"What're you doing, you idiot!?" Sindy shouted.
"Get... Off... Me!" Saint said as he shoved her to one side, and rolled to the other. Totally out of breath as he lay there in the mud.
"You're cheating!" She accused him, her face full of anger.
Saint scrambled to his feet. It took him more than a few seconds due to all the mud. He kept slipping. "Nope - I'm winning! I told you I'd get you back and I meant it!"
Sindy stumbled and bumbled her way over to him and delivered a solid punch to his face. Then a kick to his abdomen that sent him back to the mud. Saint snapped into action and crawled over to her. Grabbed her by the legs and brought her to the ground. They wrestled for a moment until he started to get the upper hand. Almost getting her into a clumsy, ill-formed armbar that probably wouldn't have done anything. But she twisted out of his grip and kicked him again, this time in the head. A muddy shoeprint, all over his face. He returned the favor by diving into her and sending a series of short punches to her ribs, trying to get some damage in. Trying to put some pain in. But it apparently didn't work. He felt an elbow collide to his head, then her arm slip around his neck. Putting him into a guillotine. They tussled and rolled about in the mud for at least half a minute.
Then an iron vice-grip settled around the back of Saint's neck and yanked him off the ground entirely. Him and Sindy both, picked up off the ground by arms built like tree trunks.
"Embarrassing," Lieutenant Commander Ambrose spat out in anger. He tossed the both of them to the ground.
Saint nearly recoiled back in fear of the man. It was like looking up into an animal. One that could break his body in one blow.
"Explain yourselves."
"That idiot started it," Sindy jabbed an accusing finger in Saint's direction.
"She kicked me back on day one and cost me my water. So I wanted my payback."
Ambrose shook his head in bitter disappointment. He looked at Saint with ferocity in his eyes. "From what I saw on the cameras, Sindy wins this race. She got out ahead of you, and it's against the rules to directly interfere with another competitor. She beat you fair and square."
"Yes!" Sindy said with excitement, pumping a fist into the air. Saint crossed his arms in frustration.
"But," Ambrose continued. He turned to Sindy. "You started the fight, Sindy. You didn't need to do that. Both of you are going into the whole for the rest of this weekend. Food privileges revoked. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," they said together.
"AM I CLEAR!?"
"Yes, sir!"
Later on that night, Lieutenant Alex Truniht found himself marching through one corridor after another. Heading from one building to the next. Crossing one field after another. Camp Currahee was a massive base. The only facility on the planet, aside from Zone 67. So it covered a lot of ground and contained numerous facilities. This time, he was heading toward the primary Command Center. It was a sizable, spherical shaped building. Capped off with a statue of the UNSC emblem at its perch. Surrounding the building were 4 illustrious pillars, rising more than 10 meters off the ground. Those pillars were studded with intricate patterns; rare minerals, mined from across UEG territories and reformed into artistic symbols etched into fine quartz. Atop those pillars each was a globe. One of Earth, one of Reach, one of Mars, and one of the jewel world Miridem. Four of the UEG's greatest colony worlds - all of which were still standing today.
Part artistic flavor. Part symbol of what they were trying to protect.
Alex marveled at the sight of the Command Center every night. The luminescence orbs activated every day at 2000 hours; they were an amalgamation of various glowing spheres that moved slowly about the CC's dome. Bathing the building, its pillars and the surrounding courtyard in an almost ethereal caste of hues.
He shoved a handful of Bitter-beads into his mouth just before entering the CC. It was a damned good candy. He needed to order a new shipment of them. Somebody had found his stash in the cafeteria and had been skimming his stuff.
The CC's interior was a lot more functional in design. A symmetrical layout, with nothing much in the way of decoration outside of carpet and holo-stills of previous Spartan-IIIs from Alpha Company. Heroes and legends, all of them had been. A small few of them still were. Such as the holo-still framed at the end of the hall Alex currently stood in. It depicted a Spartan-III warrior, adorned in heavily modified SPI armor standing atop the cannon of a Grizzly tank. The backdrop of the holo-still was of a battleground, filled with ruined Covenant vehicles and alien corpses. The tag beneath the holo-still read: Lieutenant Carter-A259 - UNSC Strategic Victory on Lestellax - December 28, 2536 - Holo-styled by Arthur B. McDuggin.
Alex continued past the still and entered the administration room. He was met by a handful of other NCOs and officers. And Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose himself, sitting cross-legged on top of a table at the room's epicenter.
Meetings like this had been a weekly ritual on Saturday. The day of score-reporting. It was never quite easy. Wasn't fun. All of the recruits were exceptional. But only 300 could graduate. And Alex still hadn't gotten used to dropping any of them. It didn't feel right. Then again, he'd had a heavy hand in getting those kids here in the first place. And that had been anything but right.
"Lieutenant," Ambrose said his name by way of greeting.
"Yes, sir," Alex snapped off a salute to Ambrose and SCPO Mendez. Nodded at each of the others, including his buddy Sergeant Bickers. The guy was posted up in a seat off to the far right. Legs kicked up on the table in front of him. Alex decided to take the seat next to him.
"Any trouble?" Ambrose asked.
"Caught Tom trying to slip into the mess hall again. This time he had 10 trainees working for him."
"Little... Maggots," Bickers grumbled.
Deep Winter appeared on the holotable toward the front of the room. The AI looked like some type of mythical being. An old, weathered wizard, seized in the throes of a cape that fluttered about as though he were caught in a blizzard. Deep Winter even had the voice and the staff to match. Alex half-expected the AI to cast a spell.
"Four weeks in," the AI started. "Still a lot of trainees. Still a lot of evaluating to be done."
Deep Winter snapped a finger, and a massive list appeared on the holotable next to him. A bunch of names and numbers all over it. "Let's start off on a high note, shall we? These are the top 50 recruits by average score as of this week, according to our totaled score charts," Deep Winter continued. "As you all know, we have yet to see any of them achieve #1 twice. We're still a bit early in the program to start determining who the true stand-outs will be. But we do have a few names that've consistently landed on this list."
Ambrose leaned forward. Steepled his fingers together and pointed at the list. "Demarcus-B602, Catalina-B401, Jonah-B283, Roland-B210, Tom-B292, Lucy-B091, Kat-B320... And our two rivals, Saint-B312 and Sindy-B129."
Alex unzipped a pocket on his tracksuit. Pulled out a VoidJoy candy marble and popped it into his mouth. It started out with a hard texture. Icy cold, sweet and slightly buttery. Then he bit into it, and it melted. A burst of juice flooded his mouth. Then he leaned forward in his seat.
"Scores are consistently good for all of them," Alex said as he raised his hand. He whipped out his datapad and thumbed through a few tabs until he got to his notes section. "Though... I'm starting to see some... Characteristics. Some of them are notably proficient in specific areas, and I expect that trend to continue."
"Don't keep us in suspense, Lieutenant," Ambrose turned to him. The Lieutenant Commander would definitely be interested in this, Alex figured. Given the man's past as a Spartan-II. Ambrose would've been a notable recruit himself. And from what Alex had been able to glean from Ambrose's heavily redacted file, the Spartan had been the leader of note in his Spartan-II class. Probably even more so than the Master Chief himself.
"Well," Alex started. "Kat, as you've suspected Lieutenant Commander, is a bit of a tech-junky. I re-ran a bootlog through our security feeds and over-scribed the network. Your theory is correct - she hacked into our power grid last week. Snuck off from her training group on 3 different occasions to hit the remote access terminal in quadrant 3B. I don't know if she knows what she's doing... It seems likely that she's just messing around, but still an impressive feat. Her radio-tech and engineering test scores are top-notch.
"Then there's Jonah. He's shown himself to be a bit of a jokester - or prankster, whatever you prefer - and uses this to make buddies left and right." Alex looked up at another NCO across the room. SCPO Mendez. "I did a little bit of interrogation on some of the recruits. Found out, Jonah's the one who set that milkshake trap on you the other week, sir."
"Son of a bitch," the man murmured. "Took me hours trying to clean that outta my hair. Don't even get me started on my suit."
"I think Tom's gonna be our leader," Alex continued. "He's really close to Lucy and usually works in concert with her. But he's very strategically-minded, and he often executes his little plots and schemes by using other recruits and assigning them roles. He's a team-builder, he gives out orders, he's smart with it... And he's charismatic. The other kids seem to love him.
"That takes me to the last two: Sindy and Saint. Both of them are very similar. They're not strategical in the way Tom is - but both of them have a very... Cunning streak about them. Devious. Clever. Crafty. Intelligent. Subversive. I don't know who's more tricky than the other, but they're miles ahead of the rest of the class on that front. Their scores are even, as well. And, they have a serious rivalry going on. I dunno how it started, but it's far from over, Lieutenant Commander."
Ambrose gave an exasperated sigh. "I thought putting them in the hole would help. Force them to rely on each other. That's the point of putting them both in the hole."
Alex shook his head. "From what I observed in the cameras, they both seem to realize that they can climb their way out if they work together. But they're not willing to do that. Maybe they're prideful. Maybe they really dislike each other. Maybe they each want the other to suffer."
"Kids," Bickers grumbled. "Little rodents."
"How many are we dropping this week?" Mendez asked. "'Cause next month's gonna be when we start doing team and unit cohesion training. We're gonna need some hard numbers to make that work."
Ambrose turned to him. "100."
Jeez.
Deep Winter turned to the Lieutenant Commander. Watched him closely for a second. Then did a simple nod before waving his staff. The holograph list scrolled and changed size, morphing into a catalogue of the lowest 100 averages as of Saturday. That was a lot of kids to send packing. And some of them were undoubtedly skilled. It was simple probability. Even kids with decent scores - a single bad point or two was more than enough to drop them into that lower 100 this time around.
"We're already over budget," Ambrose explained. "We have to cut our numbers down. It'll only get harder from here, and once we start the live-fire exercises, those who underperform aren't going to be getting dropped - they'll be getting killed. I'd rather we send them away than send them to the afterlife."
It was a chilling logic. A cruel one. But Alex had to agree. The training regime was ramped up heavily for Beta Company. Within just a couple months, the kids would begin basic arms training and combat tactics. And within a few months after that, they'd begin the serious stuff. Minefield crossings, live-fire wargames, live-fire ambush scenarios, CQB exercises against Ambrose's 'Killer-Automaton' robots, parachuting and orbital insertions, and so on. Things that were dangerous enough for fully-realized ODSTs. A lot of kids weren't going to make it. Ambrose's logic was a hard one, but it was perhaps for the best. Get the underperforming recruits singled out as soon as possible and removed.
Ambrose stood up on the table. High above everyone else. Placed his hands behind his back, and faced the holographic trainee list.
"You all understand what the problem is, right?"
Nobody said anything. Alex scratched at his eyebrow and put his head down. Suddenly took a keen interest in something on his fingernail.
"When these kids graduate," the Lieutenant Commander said as he paced to the edge of the table. "Command'll be deploying them on suicide ops."
Again, nobody said anything. The silence stretched for several minutes as they collectively pondered their options. But that was the catch - there weren't many options. And the War had to be won, regardless of the sacrifice.
"If we're going to save any of the trainees, we'll need to start planning it soon. We lost too many with Alpha Company." He looked at Alex. "Any progress?"
Alex sighed in frustration. "I've been trying -"
"Have you done it?"
"No, sir - not yet. But I will. I just don't have the influence in Beta-5 to make moves on my own right now. They're still tentative about the Headhunters program, and they're unwilling to expand it further. I think Colonel James Ackerson wants it shut down entirely. But I've contacted Commander Reuenstein in order to secure his support. Once he gets back to me, we'll know more. I just need more time."
"Time is running out," the Lieutenant Commander said. "The more funding we get for the Headhunters, the more Spartan-IIIs we can reassign. I know they can support at least 6 teams. And that frees us up to activate more Specialist Teams."
"I'm doing the best I can," Alex answered.
And he was. Several years ago, the Headhunters program had been successfully initiated by Alex's predecessor. An advanced unit of Alpha Company spartans, separated from the main company in order to perform deep-range black operations. But the program was severely limited: only two 2-spartan teams were currently allowed. The only plus side was that Alex's predecessor had managed to secure a standing reserve requirement of 12... Meaning that after Alpha Company's graduation, 12 of the spartans had also been set aside to serve as replacements in the event of a Headhunter dying in battle. Ambrose had broke off those spartans into three 4-spartan 'Specialist Teams', ensuring that they'd been too busy being deployed to participate in Operation: PROMETHEUS. Alex had no idea who his predecessor was, or how they'd managed all that. But whoever it was had to have been higher-ranking than Alex currently was. Or, at least, much more experienced in Beta-5. Because Alex felt like he was out of his depths in trying to finesse the system.
"The good news," he continued as he pored over his notes. "Is that Beta Company is getting off to a good start overall. The kids are eager, and they all want to be here. They want to win."