-Chapter 4-
Trainees Versus Trainers - I
December 5, 2540
0200 Hours Northern Standard Time
Stallhorse Forest, Onyx
Camp Currahee Warfare Complex 5, 'The Hellstrom'
Saint-B312 crawled along a metallic floor. Something like an arachnid. Except far more lethal. And he didn't even have his weapons drawn.
He didn't need them. Not really. Not so long as he kept his 1 meter distance behind the guard that marched along ahead of him. The guard made this same patrolling circuit through the Hellstrom every 5 minutes. Passed by the same rooms, the same halls, the same patrols. The same security cameras and motion sensors. On a different day, with a different enemy, that guard might've actually been doing a good job. Definitely wasn't doing a bad job; not on paper. But this was not that day. Because Saint had done a lot of homework and a lot of reading and a lot of thinking. Saint had deduced that the Hellstrom's security camera grid, in this section of the complex, would be angled along this corridor in an L-staggered pattern at 45 degree angles facing due south. Because the guard team's patrol pattern sent one soldier due north at a constant rate. Human eyes were always looking up this corridor at any given time. So it would be redundant and irrational to place cameras to watch areas if a guard was always watching it anyway.
And a 1 meter follow distance was perfect. Saint was close enough to the guard that the motion sensors wouldn't differentiate between the two. Far enough away that the guard's massive frame and torso kept Saint blocked from any angle where the cameras could see him.
So they made it to the hallway at the end of that corridor, and the defense team never knew Saint was there. They rounded the corner at the far end, just as another guard entered that corridor at the opposite end. Saint was never spotted. But he did swipe a card from the guard he was following, just before rolling out of sight and into shadow.
Saint sat there and waited. A minute went by. He checked his chronometer.
10... 9... 8... 7...
He pulled out his pistol. Checked to make sure it was still loaded. A full magazine of TTRs, all of them painted red. He pulled out a few rounds. Figured that 4 was enough. Made it look like he'd been shooting some stuff. Slid the rounds into his pocket, then sat the gun on the floor. The second guard - the one that'd entered that corridor just as Saint left it - came marching by. Right on time. Saint gave him a couple steps, then quietly kicked his pistol into the center of the hall. Broke out from his hiding spot and sprinted down the opposite end of the hallway without being spotted by a third patrolling guard.
Slid to a halt once he arrived at another crossroads. One path to the left, one path to the right. Instead of moving, Saint stood there and waited. Opened his ears and listened. Being quiet was always an advantage.
"Damn it!" A voice proclaimed in the distance.
Good. It'd been a rough calculation to try and figure out the guard team's card-check schedule. Saint hadn't been working with all the variables, and had to rely on a couple guesses. He'd only been about 80% confident. It paid off.
Because that's when he heard something else. Something more important. A locking mechanism, sliding into place with a distinct clang. Coming from down the lefthand path. The guard had realized he'd lost his card, so he'd done his job and activated a precautionary security lockdown - inadvertently giving Saint the information he needed to figure out which way to go. So Saint pulled out another weapon. An infrared-tactical smoke screen. But it was empty. He'd emptied it before ever setting foot in the Hellstrom. Made it look like he'd used the item to bypass a camera or two. He rolled the can down the righthand hallway - just before the bend in it where another security camera sat.
That'll get them on the wrong track.
Then Saint turned to look back up from where he'd come.
Don't hesitate.
Instead of standing there, he broke off down that lefthand path. Sprinted full speed. Covered the 100 meter distance in about 25 seconds. He wasn't the fastest, hadn't ever pretended to be. Saint spent the next minute turning left, then right, and then right again. That was when he came up on the security door. Sure enough, it was locked down like a fortress. That was also when the red alert hit the Hellstrom. Overhead lights flickered, and an alarm beeped angrily.
"Alert: base is on full lockdown; hostile target is within the premises."
They'd found his pistol.
Saint stepped over to the door's keypad. Slid in the stolen keycard. The keypad flashed green, but it buzzed twice. The door didn't open. Not that Saint expected it would. Two-factor authentication would've kicked in when they locked it down. Words flashed on the small screen.
CONFIRMATION REQUIRED
He typed in the 10-digit code he'd secured from the Command Office room. The keypad flickered green again, then finally opened.
"Nice!" Saint fist-pumped.
Saint entered the room. It wasn't big. Wasn't cold, either. But it did have a yellow flag perched on top of a pedestal at its center. Saint snatched it up and left the room, quickly heading back the way he came.
"Alert: Hostile target suspected to be in eastern quadrant. All forces, expedite and secure."
They'd found his fake IR smoke grenade.
Saint slowed as he reached the hall where the crossroads had been. He saw three guards go running down that righthand side. All of them sporting M7S Caseless SMGs. There was no yellow tip on the barrels, either. Which meant live-fire. Saint had on armor... But he couldn't afford to get hit. Good thing he'd planned around that. They couldn't shoot him if they couldn't find him. So he dipped up the hall the guards had come from. Broke right and went down that corridor he'd followed the first guard down. The cameras were still up there. They were still active. And, of course, they picked him up. Clear as day, black jumpsuit and all. But the only problem was that there'd be nobody to report that. When Saint's fakie smoke grenade had been found, they'd ordered 'All forces' to lockdown the eastern quadrant. Which was well away from the security control room. Nobody that'd been watching those cams would be in the room to pick up the unidentified alert. Neither from the cameras, nor the motion sensors.
After another minute, Saint emerged from the base. Ran out the front door and passed by a number of auto-cannons he easily walked up behind and disabled. He secured the flag to his back and dived into a river that ran alongside Hellstrom.
Made it out the river a couple minutes later. Soaking wet and freezing cold. He took off his boots and socks. But kept on the flag, and the new victory under his belt.
The safety bunker was built into the side of a hill, deep in shadow and well-hidden. But Saint could already see the instructors and several of his peers standing there watching. Waiting to see if he'd survive.
"I did it!" Saint shouted in excitement. "Easy peasy!"
"Nice one," Tom said, greeting Saint on his way into the bunker. They clasped hands with a firm handshake.
He felt a hand pat him on the back. Turned to see Owen with a big grin. "Thought you were gonna get killt!"
"I would've reprogrammed their security systems," Kat bragged. She had a smile on her face. "But, taking the stealth approach is fine, no?"
"Hah!"
Saint found himself surrounded by friends and buddies as they congratulated him. The level-5 Hellstrom was one of the hardest solo challenges at the camp. A lot of them hadn't expected Saint to make it. The last guy to try it hadn't made it.
"Good job, B312," a voice said. Saint had to slip through the crowd to spot the Lieutenant, the man seated in a couch chair and stuffing a handful of Bitter-Beads into his mouth.
"Sir!" Saint immediately snapped into a salute.
"At ease." The Lieutenant produced a VoidJoy from out of nowhere and tossed it to Saint. Saint broke his salute, caught the VoidJoy, and wolfed it down.
"You did a good job," Lieutenant Alex Truniht commended him as he entered something on his datapad. "Second-best score we've got."
Saint relaxed his hand. He was sure that was a great time. That's why he'd timed everything. Dang. "Who got the best?"
The Lieutenant gestured toward the rear. Saint looked past him at the trainee sitting on top of a holotable. Red hair, red eyes, and a cocky smile on her face.
"Sindy," Saint whispered the name as though it were venom.
She winked at him. "Nice try."
"Don't you two start," the Lieutenant jumped in before Saint could say anything. "You've got enough to worry about without trying to outdo each other."
"What do you mean?" Saint asked.
It was Tom who answered. "Lieutenant Commander Ambrose COM'ed in. We're doing an orbital attack on Complex 7. Gear up - we have to be offworld by 0300."
Only then did Saint realize all the others were armored up in their TT-17 Combat suits. He'd been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't noticed before. Saint couldn't help but be partly annoyed. He was tired... Ready to sleep. He'd been up and at it since 0500. The Lieutenant Commander was always throwing wrenches into everyone's schedule. Claimed that it would "Teach the importance of staying on your toes and adapting." But sometimes, Saint wondered if Ambrose was just trying to mess with them. Complex 7 was one of the larger defense facilities attached to Camp Currahee. It couldn't be attacked alone, which was Saint's preferred modus operandi. And no team in Beta Company had ever attacked it without at least a few hours of preparation - and even those teams had still caught hell. More than a handful of recruits had died to it over the past year.
"Man, this sucks," Saint couldn't help the complaint.
"Watch it," the Lieutenant snapped. "You want to be a spartan!? ACT LIKE IT, BOOT! Get yourself prepped!"
He snapped off a hurried salute. "Sir!"
Tom tapped him on the arm then, signaling for him to follow. Tom led Saint deeper into the bunker. It was one of those buildings that was larger on the inside than the outside. They passed a number of radios and crates and boxes. Descended a flight of stairs. Ended up at an armory section, full of supplies and equipment. And out of earshot of the guys up front.
Saint pulled off the flag and began undressing.
"W'sup, holmes?"
Tom passed Saint a towel to dry off with before answering. "Look, this's gonna be tough. Complex 7's no joke. And some of the team hasn't worked together before."
Saint finished wiping off his head. Then found a T-shirt in one of the lockers. Slipped it on. "I know. Kinda caught me with my pants down." Saint looked down a second. "Literally."
Tom chuckled. "You know how Ambrose is. But that's the thing, though. He wants me in charge, but I need a second-in-command."
"What about Lucy?"
"She's tough, but... I don't know. She hesitates sometimes. It's like I have to be there with her. She doesn't read situations like you. You're a wizard."
Saint swapped his underwear then pulled on a pair of thermal underpants. "I'm not that good."
"Come on, bro. You just made the Hellstrom look like a walk in the park."
"Well," Saint started. He found a TT-17 suit in another locker. It was pitch black, with patches of armor trimmed in red. He glanced up the hall they'd come from. "You've got a better choice than me. Sindy," Saint whispered. They were out of earshot... But he had to make certain she didn't overhear him say that.
"I haven't worked with her before, though. She's smart, but I don't know if she's reliable. I trust you."
Saint secured the armor strappings around his arms, legs and chest. Checked his chronometer to make sure they were still on schedule. "Ohkay. I'll do it."
"But," Tom handed Saint a pair of combat boots and socks. "You two need to stop beefing. We won't win if you two're at each other's throats."
"You should talk to her then, not me."
"Well, no offense, but... You seem to have more of a problem with her than the other way around. I'm not stupid. You're mad 'cause she's always beating you."
Saint stood up and took a step forward. Had half a mind to shove Tom. Headbutt him. But he'd learned long ago not to fight with his comrades. Especially when they were in the right. And besides - he definitely couldn't take Tom in a fight. Not if it came down to it. Tom was no pushover, and Saint wanted no parts of him. So he just bent back down and finished lacing up his boots.
"Alright."
Tom then passed Saint a rucksack. The backpack contained only a spare amount of equipment. No weapons. Saint took a moment to sift through it... There wasn't much but a poncho, a flashlight, a few flashbangs, some rocks, a wooden stick, and a few other random objects.
"It's me, you, Lucy, Catalina, Jonah, Kat, Owen and Sindy. Eight of us, so we'll split into 4-person teams. Check your frequency," Tom tapped his ear as he handed Saint an earpiece. "Z-band, TEAMCOM."
Saint switched to the right channel. Checked his equipment one last time then looked at his chronometer. "I'm all set. Still got half an hour to spare."
Tom nodded. Held out a fist. They bumped fists and then shook hands. "Let's get this done."
Lieutenant Alex Truniht looked up to the sky. Right around where the orbital platform would be. Squinting his eyes, even though he couldn't see anything but darkness and stars.
"Worried for 'em?" Bickers asked.
"Meh." He turned to look at the sergeant. "Think I shook up Saint, though. Ever since I found out how to turn it on like you, I always pull it out at the right moments. Guy like him's not used to getting yelled at."
Bickers laughed. "Hah - lemme hear it!"
Alex took in a deep breath. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY FACE, RECRUIT!"
"Ah, ya gotta put a little more gravel into it. But nice one, though."
They both sighed. Bickers lit up a cigarette. Alex unwrapped a Stellarstride. A moment of silence stretched as they each enjoyed their addictions.
"Think the little shits'll win?" Bickers asked.
Alex shrugged as he looked back up at the sky. "I haven't hit them with the hitch yet. Soon as I do, I imagine it's going to obliterate their cohesion. That's a lotta pressure. And Saint and Sindy are both on the team."
"Really?" Bickers snorted. "That's gonna be a shitfest."
"Saint is... He's our best trainee. No doubt. Problem is, he just views everything as a game. Like he's trying to beat a top score. Sindy doesn't. She treats everything as life-or-death. Treats everything as if it's the last thing she'll ever do. That's why she edges him out."
"No shit?"
"Saint's too clever for his own good." Alex revealed. "He thinks too much. I'm pretty sure the single thing that really sets him apart is that the indoctrinations don't work on him. They never have. He doesn't have that killer-instinct yet. That thirst for blood that we've been instilling in all the others. Look at his solo runs," Alex told Bickers. "How many kills has he scored? How many targets incapacitated?"
"None," Bickers realized. "He always figures out how to beat it with the least amount of conflict and effort."
"That's right. He doesn't thrive in the environment, in the field, in the conflict, like all the others. Doesn't take it that serious. Despite that, he's the top scorer behind Sindy. If we can figure out a way to tap into that killer drive with him like we've done with all the others... We're looking at a Hyper-Lethal Spartan."
Bickers flicked his cigarette aside. Looked at Alex to see if he was serious. Then he leaned back on the railing.
"Is that why you suggested that particular hitch?"
"Yep. This'll wake the boy up. I guarantee that." Alex checked his chronometer. "Let's get to the comms post."
One hour later
Saint didn't like. Not one bit. Tom was trying fight a stand-up battle. As if he were Spartacus facing down a Roman legate. Maybe that would've worked on another day. But not this time. Not with the hitch Alex had hit them with.
Because Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose himself was leading the defense team. For some reason, Alex had kept that little fact a secret until they'd already dropped from the space station.
A worried sigh escaped Saint's lips. There were better ways to plant the bomb. Ways to get it done without unnecessary gunfights. But Tom felt as though it'd take too much time. And Saint had given his ally his word. Couldn't let Tom down.
Dang it!
Saint climbed out of his SOEIV and immediately rolled into cover. It was a close-range landing. Complex 7 would've heard the pods touch down, if not seen it. So Saint was expecting company. He crawled beneath a pair of shrubs, so well-hidden in the darkness that he couldn't even see himself. Then he waited a couple minutes.
"Bravo Team, status," he whispered.
"Bravo 2, all quiet here," Sindy answered.
"Bravo 3, I'm good," Catalina jumped in.
"Bravo 4, no tangos in sight. Lame-o's are too scared," Jonah said. Saint could hear the smile in his voice.
"Same here," Saint said. He tapped a button on his COM and switched to TEAMCOM-1. "Bravo Team's green. Moving to RV point 1."
"Copy that," Tom shot back. "Alpha Team's all peachy. We're moving to commence phase 1. Keep me posted if you come into contact."
"Aye, aye. Good luck, brother."
Saint took a deep breath. He wasn't that good at working with a team. Let alone leading one. And definitely not against the superhero himself, Kurt Ambrose. Beads of sweat were already starting to run down Saint's forehead. The shakes had already gotten into his hands and chest. Doubts had already started creeping through his mind. But he had to set that non-sense aside. Saint couldn't let Tom down.
He produced his map from his backpack. It wasn't easy to read it in the dark. He would've memorized it back on the platform, but the instructors hadn't passed them out until everyone had already gotten inside their pods. So, only now did Saint realize the map was crudely designed. There were so few details, it looked like someone might've gotten a little kid to draw it. From memory, at that. The only detailed landmark that he had to work with was the nearby river, which would run toward Complex 7 before breaking off to the right, heading around it into a densely forested region. RV point 1 was about 400 meters west of the river and 300 meters south of Complex 7. Saint opened up his ears. Got quiet and listened. Being quiet was always an advantage. He could just barely hear the river running off to the far right. From somewhere down there. So that was one point of navigation. Then he had to orient himself to face north. The easiest way to do that was check for Kileeni Squares. Little small flowers that grew out here in the forest, facing the northern pole. Saint scrambled around until he found a couple, then adjusted himself in the direction they were facing. Then he headed off.
Orders were fairly simple. They had to get into the heart of Complex 7. At the building called the 'Nerve-Center', whereupon they had to plant a 'dummy-bomb' and ensure it finished its timer. And then exfiltrate. Tom had decided to carry the bomb himself. "Biggest responsibility should always fall on the shoulders of the leader," Tom had said. There were only two problems. The first was that they only had to midday to accomplish the mission. Which seemed like a lot of time... But time flew by quick when the action started. And the other problem - the hitch - was Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose. Tom wanted to prioritize Ambrose as a target. Take him out and shatter the defense team's coordination. But that was more than simply being easier said than done. To Saint, it was like saying "I'll make 1 + 1 equal 10" versus actually doing that equation. It was impossible in a logically necessary type of sense.
Time went by. Logs were leapt over, and shrubs were brushed aside. Insects were crunched underfoot. Berries were swiped off bushes and eaten.
Half an hour later, Saint was perched on a tree branch, crawling his way along it like a dwarka squirrel looking for acorns. Satisfied he was in a good enough position, he wrapped his legs around the branch, then rolled until he was hanging upside down from it. He folded a finger into his mouth, then let out a deep series of whistles. Sounding just like a skyllian robin.
A reply came in the from of a pebble that whizzed along the ground beneath him. Just barely distinguishable. He waited an extra moment. Just in case. Then he unlocked his legs from around the tree branch. Fell over backwards in the air and rolled when he hit the ground. Sidled his way over to where the pebble had come from.
"Nice hiding spot," he whispered. Catalina was buried within an alcove of rock, covered in leaves and sticks. Impossible to see from a distance, unless you were actively looking for someone hidden there. He couldn't even make out the details of her silver hair. Saint was impressed.
"You're not the only one good at hide 'n seek."
"But you are the only good one at getting beat up in gravball," a voice said from behind. Saint knew who it was without having to turn around.
"Shut up, Jonah."
Jonah crawled up and took a seat next to Saint. His face was covered in dirt and grass and mud. Saint had to admit - it made Jonah look pretty cool. Like a commando. Like... Overlord Ziborg. Saint realized he could just barely remember what Ziborg looked like.
"Hey - I'm just keepin' it real," Jonah said. He picked up a pebble and tossed it at a tree several meters away. "Ain't that right, Martian?"
Sindy emerged from behind the tree, all silent and ghostlike. She held up a hand, revealing the pebble Jonah had tossed. Then she threw it right back at him, hitting Jonah straight on the forehead.
"Ow!"
"The name's Sindy."
"I get the point! Dang!" Jonah was rubbing at the spot.
Saint laughed at him.
"Alright, guys - ponchos and maps. Let's go over our plan of attack," Saint told them.
They spent the next minute rifling through their bags. The ponchos were fairly small. Meant to be worn by someone 9 years old. But together, they were the size of a bedsheet. And blocked light. They tied their ponchos together, then huddled up close and got beneath the cover. It was a tight fit, but they made it work, packing themselves into a small circle. All of them produced their crude maps and sat them at the center of their circle. Then Saint pulled out his flashlight - only to realize it didn't have a battery. Dang it. I totally forgot to even check that. He rummaged in his backpack, even though he already knew there wouldn't be any inside it.
"I have one," Sindy whispered. She held out a hand, a small battery right on her palm.
Saint hesitated a moment. Maybe she was trying to pull a trick on him. But then he took it anyway. That wasn't really her style - not like Jonah, at least.
"Thanks."
He popped the battery in and they finally had light.
"Alright. Hold this," he handed the flashlight to Catalina. Then he pulled out a pen that was inside his bag. From what he could tell, each of their maps had varying degrees of detail in different locations. So he figured he could redraw a new map, pooling together what he could from all 4 of theirs. And add extra detail based on his own deductions of what made sense for a base like Complex 7. Saint had a bit of a Rembrandt in him. Not much, but it was there. He flipped his map over onto the backside and spent the next minute drawing up a fresh one as best he could.
"I see you learned something in art class," Jonah tapped Saint on the arm. "And here I was, thinking you were more of a stick figures kinda guy. A boxes and circles kinda guy. Kindergarten painting stuck to the refrigerator by a magnet, kinda guy."
"Saint's always been into art," Catalina said. "You've never seen his journal?"
Jonah bumped shoulders with Saint. "Quiet guy's a box full of surprises, huh?" Again, Saint could hear the smile in his voice. "Look at ya... You ain't fooling anybody. Tryna' act slick. You're not James Bond, buddy. You're not that guy."
"And he's always stealing Lieutenant Truniht's candy," Catalina added. "That's probably why he's always by himself. Doesn't want anyone to know so we can't rat him out."
Jonah bumped his shoulder again. "Oooh, boy. She shouldn't've told me that. Now I've got some ammunition on you. I've been waiting for a chance to use my candy-bomb, heh."
"He's scared of Tom, too. You see how agreeable he is when Tom's around."
"You know a lot about him," Jonah said to Catalina. "You must be into him!"
"Guys," Saint held up a hand. "Shut up. Let me concentrate. And you're way too loud, Jonah. All you do is joke."
"That's not true... Ohkay, maybe a little. It's halfway true. One-fourth true. We'll call it a possible fact."
Sindy groaned. "You need to grow up. We've got a job to do."
Saint couldn't argue with that. But he could supplement it. "Alright, check this out."
Complex 7 was big. Saint had no way to accurately figure out a scale, but if his estimates of the distance he'd traveled so far were on point, then the base was more than a few square kilometers in total. Which made it a fortress. He pointed to various spots on the redrawn map as he tried to explain the layout, and the team listened. Even Jonah understood how important this was.
The outermost perimeter was essentially squared-off in shape. It was closed off with some type of barrier. Without getting eyes on it firsthand, Saint had no way to know what kind of barrier. Not for certain. But he explained to the team that Camp Currahee's Special Assembly Plants built, among other things, the notorious SPI armor. SPI armor's main sections were predominantly composed of liquid nanocrystal. And the element typically involved in liquid nanocrystal was hyper-stabilized enriched pyrite. An element used to construct fire-fences. Fences that could, among other things, expel various controlled substances upon approach by unauthorized personnel. Like odorless gasses, or in extreme cases, fire - incinerating anything trying to cross over or through it. And giving the fences their names. Highly expensive to produce, but highly efficient. So Saint argued that it was reasonable to assume Complex 7 was surrounded with them.
Of course, getting inside was the easy part.
Within that perimeter were, presumably, multiple guardhouses and watchtowers. Saint didn't know what the symbols meant, but both Jonah and Catalina's maps had contained them, so they were important. He suspected they had sniper towers in the mix. Spotlights to boot, and multi-spectrum cameras. The kind that could see the visible and non-visible spectrums. Extreme ultraviolet, to far infra-red. But on top of that was the standard-issue defense systems. The stuff that all the Complexes came with. Like motion trackers, minefields, M202s and spike traps.
"So..." Jonah jumped in. "There's no sneaking our way into the Nerve-Center. Right?"
Well... Saint had a method for potentially doing just that. Even with all the stuff he realized they'd be going up against. But this was a team job. And Saint might've been Bravo leader, but he had to follow Tom's orders.
"In theory, our team won't need to," Saint answered. "Not if we do our j-..."
Saint shut his lips and the flashlight, then pointed to his ears.
He forced his mind into calculation mode, just like Ambrose had been training them to do.
Footsteps.
Distant, but there. A minute off. Two, tops. Minute and a half best-estimate. Leaves, twigs and sticks being crunched. So, heavy-footed bootsteps. Enemy instructors in armor - not an animal. Slow pace. Careful and methodical. No voices, either. So, alert. Actively looking. Suspecting. Possibly tracking. Expecting contact. Unorthodox rhythm. Multiple enemy instructors. More than one. Looking for a team of trainees. So, more than two. Probably four, give or take 1. Directed audio-queues, too. Each step getting louder. Getting closer. So heading this direction. Paths would cross.
So something had to be done about them.
Bravo Team quietly slipped from beneath their poncho cover. It was useless at this point. Would get in the way. Saint immediately fired off multiple hand signals and gestures. He ordered for Catalina and Jonah to take up position off toward the team's righthand side, staggered with a 5 meter distance between the two. Then he ordered Sindy to close distance with the enemy patrol by 3 meters. She would take the rear-most guard. To his relief, she followed the order without hesitation. Then Saint himself fell back. But first, he picked up their ponchos. Crawled out into the open and left them sitting there on the ground, balled up as tightly as possible. With a flashbang that he primed and wedged in-between a rock and the poncho-ball. His fingers were shaking.
Gotta work faster than this. Come on...
Satisfied he'd gotten the banger to stay in place, he rolled back into cover just as a trio of flashlights came angling down through the brush. He crawled a few more feet, rubbing dirt and grass over his face the entire time, and swiftly climbed his way into a tree. Crawled out onto a tree branch that reached out over the poncho-ball. Pulled out his stick, and a rock. Then made himself as small as possible and waited.
Three instructors appeared in his view. They were in a staggered formation, all of them carrying M7S's with the laser sight attachment. Scanning and checking their angles carefully, too. Weapons raised and ready to fire.
Worse yet, they were heavily armored. Nothing exposed but their faces. Dang.
Saint tightened the grip on his stick. This fight was going to get messy. Someone wasn't going to make it out of this. Saint planned on it being the guards.
A flashlight centered in on Saint's poncho trap. The guard on point held up a fist, signaling for his team to wait while he checked it out. Saint swallowed his fear and steadied himself as the guard approached. Buried his body into the tree branch as tightly as possible. The flashlight swooped around the vicinity as the guy got closer. Then it swooped upward, checking the treeline. Checking Saint's hiding spot. Saint closed his eyes. Waited. Sure enough, the guard hadn't identified him, and proceeded to kneel down and check out the poncho.
The team'll know who to strike. I hope. Jonah's always a curveball.
The guard picked up the poncho - the flashbang exploded. The next 5 seconds seemed to happen in slow motion.
Too stunned to act, that guard was practically frozen in place. And utterly unaware of Saint falling down right on top of him. Saint was by no means the biggest trainee in the Company. But his weight, crashing from that height, was more than enough to fold the legs of a stunned guard. They hit the ground like a pile of crumbling bricks. And Saint had his stick in hand. Saint drove it into the man's left eye - brutal and violent and bloody - then swung a hand, cracking the man's nose with the rock he'd been holding.
The guard screamed. Shoved a hand into his wounded eye. But Saint wasn't finished. A M7S was still active, and a burst of rounds fired off wildly, hitting some trees off in the distance. Saint drove his stick into the man's other eye, and the guard immediately dropped the M7S to clutch as his face. Freeing the gun up for Saint to snatch. A lot of blood was spurting all over the place. It showered through the guard's gloved fingertips. Showered Saint's torso armor. But Saint ignored it. He rolled off the guard and brought his gun to bear on the other two targets.
They were down. One of them was similarly clutching at his throat... Gurgling, wide-eyed and in horror, and writhing on the ground beneath Catalina and Jonah. The final guard was sprawled out on the ground. Still and lifeless beneath Sindy, who stood over him with a M7S in her hands.
She lifted the gun, and fired a round clean through the other guard that'd been leaking blood from his throat. Then she turned to face Saint.
"Shut him up," she said.
"Huh?" Saint's adrenaline was flowing so strong, he didn't even understand what Sindy was saying. All he knew was that they'd won, and that his chest felt as though a boa constrictor had seized him up. His hands shook violently.
"He's screaming," she pointed to the guard beneath Saint. "Loudly."
Saint looked down, only then realizing the problem. Realizing the screaming going on. The guard was giving away their position. Saint aimed his gun... And hesitated.
A moment later, a bullet tore clean through the guard's neck. Killing him instantly.
Sindy came walking over, firing another round to double-tap the guard. Then she checked the magazine in her M7S. Elbowed Saint in the arm. Hard. "Get your head on straight."
"We didn't need to kill him."
"This is life-or-death, Saint. Stop acting like a kid."
He turned to her. Shoved her in the shoulder. "We could've used him for information."
Sindy stepped into Saint. Pressed her forehead against his, her teeth bared and gritted in anger. "He wasn't going to give anything up, and you know it," she said, pushing him back a step.
Saint pushed back. "You don't know that! Ambrose is out there! We need to try every angle possible."
"That's an excuse. You hesitate, you die - we die!" she argued, their heads still butting each other.
"I didn't ask for a team anyway! I don't need your stupid help!"
A pair of hands separated the two. "Hey, hey," Jonah said, stepping in-between them. Catalina was with him. "Stop, guys. Just stop. Cooldown a second."
Jonah turned to face Saint, standing between him and his rival. "I get where you're coming from, dude. I get it. But Sindy's right. Rules-of-engagement are weapons-free for a reason. And they won't hesitate to do us in. Look at what happened to Tony's team when they went to Zone 67. So we can't hesitate ourselves. Not if we call ourselves spartans. There's no way that guy would've told us anything - hell, he couldn't even see! And we need to move, fast, 'cause somebody probably heard that."
Saint backed off. Let out a deep breath. "I can't have Sindy challenging me left and right."
Jonah shook his head. "Look, we're all a team here. We're in this together."
Maybe. But Saint was pissed off now. Emotion-charged. He tossed his M7S to the ground. "No. I'll do it myself," he said, backing away from the team. "I'll get rid of Ambrose and shut down the base myself. You're all just going to get in the way."
"Bro, wait!" Jonah shouted as Saint walked off. It did no good.
Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose stood in the communications spire of the Nerve-Center. It was the one place in Complex 7 where he could have access to all the information he needed. All the cameras, all the tracker logs, all the COM chatter and reports. And he had a good view. He was several stories up off the ground, looking out a heavily-tinted window at the base beyond. Scrutinizing every single detail of his team and their efforts. He micro-managed every single patrol, every single soldier, every single guard post, every single nook and cranny. Did it with pure brilliance, at that. It came easy to him. Second-nature, like riding a bicycle. And Kurt used his abilities to their maximum potential, squeezing out every single ounce of efficiency he could from Complex 7. Each patrol team had been strategically assigned, each trap strategically positioned, and each layer of defense strategically designed.
Kurt didn't need to think too hard. He knew the trainees well, and he understood the dynamics they'd be facing. He could see inside their minds. Predict what they'd do before they'd consciously made the decision.
Such as their plan of attack.
Tom was leading the attacking team. He was a skilled leader - probably the best in Beta. And though the trainees all had a touch of aggression in them, Tom was of particular note. The boy was a fighter, both literally and figuratively. So he was going to blaze guns.
That was why Kurt had sent those two patrol teams out beyond the perimeter. One for Tom's team to ambush, and one for the other team to ambush. That second team was undoubtedly being led by Saint. Tom and Saint knew each other. Were good friends, and had worked together often. And so Tom would know that Saint was a bit of a tactician. A calculating fellow. So Saint would be the obvious choice to lead that second team. And their teams would beat those patrols... And take their guns. A perfect tool to wage a firefight with.
And Tom was going to do just that. Use Saint's team to setup a battle position. Attack Complex 7 from its eastern side, where there was high-ground. And intentionally light defenses. Saint's team was going to secure quadrant 5's tower network first. Take out a few guards, trade shots with some, and then hack into quadrant 5's M202 XP automated turrets and defense systems. Turn them on Complex 7, effectively quintupling their firepower just like that.
That's why Kurt had specifically ordered Deep Winter to train that skillset last week. Teach the kids basic intrusion skills. Of course, Kat had that under her belt to begin with. But she wouldn't be in quadrant 5. Not today. Kurt was certain of it. Because Tom would keep Kat close at hand, and Tom wouldn't be in quadrant 5.
Why? Because Tom needed someone proficient at breaking security systems - like those that would be in the Nerve-Center's target room. Someone like Kat. And Tom was going to infiltrate the base from the west.
Saint's team was the bait. Good bait, but bait nonetheless. They were to cordon off quadrant 5. Use the munitions there to draw attention away from Tom's team. Hold their own until Tom emerged from the Nerve-Center, bomb already exploded.
A good plan. Would've worked against Sergeant Bickers. Probably even Mendez. But not against Kurt. He'd already had a failsafe reboot installed on quadrant 5's defense grid. Nobody was going to repurpose quadrant 5. And Kurt, himself, was going to meetup with Tom down there in the target room. Just Kurt, nobody else. Give the boy firsthand experience of what it means to face an overwhelming enemy. What it means to be utterly outmanned, outgunned, outpowered and outmatched. A lesson every single person in the UNSC needed, let alone spartans. Tom was skilled, to be sure. Him and Kat and whoever else was in his team. But they were no match for Kurt, even with him wearing nothing but a t-shirt and camo fatigue pants. Not even close to a match.
Kurt had been waging this battle since before it'd ever started. Kurt had been planning to win since last week, way back when he had Deep Winter startup that intrusion lesson plan. Kurt had already won this battle over a week ago.
That's rule number one of warfare. Never fight a battle unless you've already won it.
So he was genuinely surprised when a report filtered in on the COM.
"I've got activity to the north," Lieutenant Jaggers called in. "Savinny's located a trap. Flashbang cake, just waiting for someone to step on it. Definitely one of the kids. I'm sending Raptor 2-2 to help investigate."
"Tell him to leave his spot and spring it. Act natural," Kurt ordered, already on the move and loading up his pistol. He marched over to the big window at the north side of the room and heaved it open.
"Wait one," Jaggers came back. Hesitated. Kurt could understand why. Spartan training assignments were deadly affairs; there was no guarantee of survival for anyone, instructor or trainee. To make it as real - and as harsh - as possible. To simulate reality as best as possible. Real combat wasn't a bunch of dummy bullets and a few bruises here and there. Real combat was plasma and full-metal jackets. Vaporized limbs and gaping wounds. So ordering Savinny to spring a trap like that was not far from the realm of ordering him to commit suicide. But they'd signed up for this, and Kurt had long ago earned their respect and loyalty.
Kurt slipped from the comms spire. Fell five whole stories and landed atop another section of the Nerve-Center, rolling with the impact. It didn't hurt him one bit. He marched toward the edge of the building, his fingers tapping away at the gauntlet on his left wrist. Sending lockdown orders to the other end of the base.
"Savinny says nothing happened," Jaggers reported. "All quiet."
Kurt slipped off the edge of the building, landing right beside a dumpster.
Stood there in that spot for 2 whole seconds. In calculation mode.
Nothing happened? So diversion. Northside. Single trap. Successfully drew attention. Single trooper - no attack. No secondary reports of activity. No secondary attack. So still hiding low. Still keeping quiet. Not Tom - too subtle, too deliberate. Out of style. Somebody else. Saint-B312, obviously. Must've disobeyed orders. Broke off. Alone. No help. Cowboy mode. Plan still in motion. Waiting for reaction. Waiting for mistake. What mistake? Mistake already made? Raptor 2-2 diverted. Useless target. Not worth drawing out. Not possibly a mistake. Readied defenses on southern end. Locked down southern gate. Also not possibly a mistake. What else?
Outside of Nerve-Center. Exposed.
Spotted.
Mistake.
Damn.
Those two seconds went by. Kurt rolled just as the trainee burst from the dumpster, a flickering stun baton held high above the boy's head. The attack might've succeeded against someone else. But Kurt was a fully-realized Spartan-II. The boy just looked as though he were slowed down. Like someone had put him into a tub of molasses. Kurt simply swiped a foot out and tripped Saint when the boy landed. Then switched foot and kicked him in the chest before the boy hit the ground. Used a modicum of his strength. Sent Saint flying back into the dumpster. Unconscious from that one blow. The stun baton rolled out of Saint's fingers and deactivated.
"Ambrose here," he spoke into the COM, looking down at Saint. Disappointment and ferocity in his voice. "I got him. Get my interrogation room set up. And my tools."