-Chapter 6-
New Realities
December 24, 2540
1900 Hours Northern Standard Time
Unknown location, Onyx
Unknown location
Saint scratched at the back of his neck. Right at the base of his skull. Where his shaved skin gave way to cold metal. Hard and robotic-like. His mind wasn't on the neural interface, however. Not right now. Currently, he was mulling over information he'd recently gathered. Figuring out what to do with it, and how best to deal with Tom. Then he made a series of calculated assumptions. First, he assumed that Tom would want to move Beta Company posthaste. Their current campsite was both a horrible and temporary location, and there was hardly any potential for foraging or scavenging. And so a need to move would be paramount. Secondly, he assumed that such a move would be aggressive. It was somewhere around 1900 hours. There wouldn't be much sunlight for longer, and although it was generally safer to move under cover of darkness, Beta Company would have to fight if it wanted it's new spot. Onyx's wildlife was vile and vicious... And even more so at night, when those animals had the ability to see in the dark. Something Beta Company couldn't do.
His final assumption was that he wouldn't be able to convince Tom otherwise. Saint had the better arguments - the new location could be cleared of hostile wildlife without need for direct confrontation. But this wasn't a democracy, and there was more to convincing people than simply having the better argument. Saint considered an alternate approach. Instead of reporting immediately to Tom, he locate Sindy. Have her convince him. Sindy had that effect on people, and she was disarming. That was some type of inherent trait that Saint simply didn't have. But Saint decided against that, ultimately. It was against protocol. Saint was required to report directly to Tom once he returned to the camp. Orders are orders, and Saint was officially a UNSC servicemember now.
And most importantly... Saint couldn't let someone else fight his battles for him. It would be dishonorable.
Saint sighed. Tossed the pebble in his hand. It bounced off Aung La's head.
"Ow!", Aung said, rolling away into cover and scanning the treeline. "Who's that!?"
Saint swung and hung upside down on the tree branch he was currently on. "Yo, holmes!"
"Saint?" Aung stood from cover, still rubbing at his forehead. "You could've just whistled, y'know."
"You looked like you were sleeping," Saint said. He dropped from the tree branch, flipped in the air and rolled when he hit the ground.
"I wasn't." Aung sighed. Then smiled. Saint walked over to him and they clasped hands, the handshake like a loud smack. "I don't know how you got up there without me seeing. Still, good to see you didn't kick the bucket." Aung looked past Saint's shoulder.
"Where's Midas?"
Saint stepped back. Shook his head. Aung closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Any good news?"
"She found us a good place to set up camp."
"Nice. Y'better go let Tom know. He's at the usual spot."
Saint nodded, patted Aung on the shoulder and headed off.
"Hey - Saint!? Next time you go off, lemme roll with you. It's boring here."
"Yeah, buddy!"
Beta Company's current campsite was practically on the side of a mountain. So Saint spent most of his time climbing uphill. He was winded by the time he reached the 'staging' area. Spotted Tom standing with several others, including Lucy. Those two were always side by side. When the group spotted Saint, a look of relief washed over them. Relief and eagerness - until they realized that Saint had returned alone. Alone, but not without fruit. He had good news and bad news, and decided he might as well get the bad news out of the way first.
"Midas didn't make it," he told Tom. Saint pulled off Midas's rucksack and sat it on the ground. "Based on the tracks I found, I think a pack of vector-eels got her."
"Jeez," Tom said, kneeling down as he reached for her rucksack. There wasn't much in it. But any little bit would help. Tom dumped its content onto the ground: a few pieces of bread, two bottles of water - one of which was half-empty - and a handful of other supplies. A pocket knife, as well. Tom took the pocketknife, then waved a hand, and several other trainees came jogging up. They collected the items and stored them in a makeshift sack before heading off. Tom slammed a fist down. The skin on his knuckles had peeled off more than a week ago... And multiple unfortunate events since then had only led Tom to making it worse.
"Where is she?"
"I buried her - what was left of her," Saint told him. The sight had been a gory one. Brutal and nasty; something Saint hadn't truly ever seen before in person. And the smell had been worse. Made him vomit. The burial site he'd constructed was a sorry one. But it was better than nothing, and the rocks he'd placed over it would keep any scavenger animals from defiling her further.
"And the good news?"
Saint knelt down and pulled out his spear. A stick of wood with a rock carved into a pointed tip at the head. Began drawing a little map in the dirt. "She found a spot. I checked the place out. Lots of cover, and some high ground. And a lake that's not far. That's fish and water, both. Terrain is good, too... With enough space for us to store things. We can start hitting back at Currahee."
Tom nodded as he studied Saint's drawing.
"Only thing is," Saint continued. "Those vector-eels are still out there. And they're not alone - I found some tracks of something... I don't even know what it is. But it's big. Worst and most important is that I ran into some nelns. They have a nest in the campsite at this location here," Saint pointed to a spot on his map.
"One problem at a time. Right now, we don't have the weapons... But we need a place to rest, and we both know of our food shortage." Tom stood back up. Pure determination on his face. "Midas's sacrifice led us here. We're taking that spot from the nelns."
Saint stood himself. "How're we going to deal wit-"
"We'll kill them, and anything else that tries us," Tom cut him off. He turned to a nearby trainee. "Katsuhiro - get everyone ready for active deployment. Combat teams report to me in five minutes, as well as our medics. We'll be moving out in 20. We need to do this while we still have daylight."
"Yes, sir," Katsuhiro snapped off his salute and ran off.
Tom turned to walk off, but Saint put a hand on his shoulder. Stopped him. "What're you doing, brother?"
"Trying to keep everyone alive," he shoved Saint's hand aside.
"You didn't hear me? I said there's a neln nest in the area."
"And they'll die."
Saint shook his head. "There's smarter ways to do this. Let me take our best scouts, identify that nest and get their numbers. Draw them off. We might not even have to fight."
Tom took a step into Saint. They stood in front of each other, one shoulder pressing into the other's. "Last time I tried to put you in charge of a team, you disobeyed orders. Broke off on your own and put the entire mission - and everyone's lives - in jeopardy. And we don't have time to play detective. Everyone's starving, everyone's thirsty, and everyone's tired. Morale is low. Everyone's on edge. We need something to kill."
"How're we going to kill them, huh? Sticks and rocks and knives? They're nelns - we don't have the weapons!"
"We're spartans!" Tom shouted. "We are the weapons! And I'm done losing!"
Tom shoved his shoulder into Saint's.
Saint resisted the urge to shove back. This time, at least.
"So fall in line, Saint. Go get Sindy and her scouts. You're following her for this sortie," and with that, Tom marched off.
Saint wanted to fight him. Badly so, and probably would've, had Tom been anything but Company Commander. Even though he knew Tom was likely to win that fight. It was a matter of honor and pride. Being in command was obviously getting to Tom. Changing him. Making him irascible and prone to rashness. Tom needed someone to knock some sense into him, and Saint desperately wanted to do that. But he couldn't battle his friend. Not like this. Not after what he'd done in their last mission together.
He turned. Spotted the portable AI pedestal, where the wizard Deep Winter floated. "I don't suppose you should stand around waiting, B312," the AI said.
"No. I shouldn't. But can't you convince Tom?"
Deep Winter shook his head. "Even if I wanted to, my subroutines prevent me from assisting in any internal or external disputes or conflicts. My job is solely for academic training of all trainees. Which begins anew tomorrow morning at 2000 hours."
Saint already knew as much, even despite his asking. This wasn't really Deep Winter - just a fragment of the AI, partitioned off for that one purpose. But the past week had been far from easy, as far as studying went. Nothing had been easy.
Saint headed off. He crawled and climbed and jumped his way across the ridge Beta Company was currently positioned on. It was awkward terrain along the side of a mountain, and made for a poor base of operations. Aside from there being few trees for any type of aerial concealment, there were too many rocks and cliffs and edges for anyone to keep a cohesive network. And several trainees had already fallen from some of the cliffs. Bones were already broken, exacerbating Beta Company's issues. So Saint moved about carefully. Carved a path through various other teams and units, greeting them as he went. It was his first time being back in 3 days. His return wasn't really triumphant, though. He informed them of Midas, and spread the word about the upcoming expedition. And he also asked for Sindy's whereabouts - which seemed to be changing with every person he asked.
By the time he found her, several minutes had already passed. She was sitting near the edge of a dropoff overlooking out west, with Jonah next to her. Vibrant red hair and all. Saint didn't hear what Jonah said, but Sindy found it funny. Jonah put a hand around her shoulder, pointing off at something in the distance. Saint watched them for a second. Wondered what they were talking about.
"Hey, Saint," A voice came from behind. Saint turned to see Catalina standing there, a broad grin on her small face.
"Catalina - you're looking quite... Dazzling," he told her.
"It's good to see you. When did you get back?"
"I -"
"Hey - it's Lone Wolf!" Jonah shouted. Saint turned to see Jonah standing there with a smile on his face, holding out a hand. "Didn't think you'd make it."
Saint clasped his hand - only to realize, too late, that Jonah had a sharp prickle leaf wrapped around his palm. It poked Saint in the palm like a needle, and he jerked his hand back. "Ow! Damn it, Jonah!"
He laughed. "Ah, c'mon - y'know you missed me."
Saint sighed. Shook his head. Saw Sindy walking up from behind Jonah. "Sindy," Saint greeted her with a small bow. She was a sight for sore eyes. A thought he wouldn't have fathomed a mere month ago. He wasn't certain, but her hair and eyes both seemed even brighter than before.
"Where's Midas?"
"She... Didn't make it."
They all went silent for a moment. Saint broke it. "Tom wants the scout force up front. We've located a suitable place to setup a base at, but we're going to have to fight for it. We're commencing a combat op."
"Fight?" Sindy asked.
"Nelns for certain, and possibly other stuff, including vector-eels."
"This seems rushed. You didn't warn him?"
Saint held his hands up. "I tried, but Tom's committed. We're going full-speed ahead, and he's putting me in your team."
"Well," Jonah started. "Beats sitting around, right? Come on. Let's go find the others."
Jonah and Sindy broke off, leaving behind Saint and Catalina. Saint sighed again. Watched Sindy as she left with Jonah. It wasn't until Catalina tapped him on the arm that his gaze broke off. He gestured for her to lead the way. Neither of them said anything at first. Just made their way along the mountainside. This was Saint's first time seeing her in over a week, since before he left the camp to find Midas. Her silver-white hair looked like it was too long, past regulation length. Although it matched her pale face, it contrasted with her freckles that seemed to decorate her like glitter. Catalina was always friendly to Saint. Always looking out for him, always trying to get him to join her on whatever she was busy doing.
She broke the silence first. "What's Jericho VII like?" she asked him.
"I don't really remember too well," Saint shrugged. "It was... hard."
The pair made it to a wall. She knelt down, cupping her hands together to give Saint a boost. He stepped into her hands, climbed up onto the higher level, then reached down and hauled her up.
"Yeah, I don't remember much about the station I grew up on. It was always cold, and the gravity generators went out all the time."
"I try not to think much about it. The other life. Y'know what I mean."
"Me neither, but... That's what we're supposed to be fighting for. I just hope I live to see it again, someday. Life, I mean. A house and a bed and... hobbies."
He looked at her. "Like what?"
Catalina shrugged this time. "I dunno. I like basketball."
"Heh. Me too."
"Really? You seem like you're into... Brooding."
Heh. "Appearances can be deceiving."
They came up on a small chasm. Catalina leapt across it first, then waited as Saint jumped it.
"Like warfare."
"Yep," Saint said, his mind jumping to the old quote they'd learned from Sun Tzu's book. All warfare is based on deception. Saint could read that book all day, everyday, and not get bored. "If only Tom could understand that."
"Speaking of Tom..."
They reached the forward area of the camp, where Tom stood assembled with more than two hundred trainees waiting on standby. It was enough to cover the territory, but nelns were violent creatures. Clever, too. Several trainees weren't going to make it. Not in a straight up fight. Not with the weapons they currently had, which amounted to makeshift spears, rocks, hands, and a few bows and arrows for archers. They were like an ancient cohort of peasant farmer skirmishers.
If only Saint could've convinced Tom. He could've found a way. But it was too late now.
"...close the noose around them. Game, set, match. Is that unclear to anyone?" Tom asked the group, shouting up to be heard. Nobody's hands raised. Then he stood and delivered a speech.
"We've been on this rock for years now," Tom started. He paced back and forth as he spoke. "All of us have been battered and hardened. Tested and challenged. Broken and shattered. We all lost our lives and gained a worse one in the process. And we're still here. Why is that? It's because we were born for this. We face our enemy, and we destroy them, and we do that over, and over and over, until we die. We live, and we die, with blood on our hands and hatred in our hearts. Because our real Enemy is out there. They're vicious. Ruthless and insane, and whatever we battle here on Onyx is nothing to that Enemy. I despise this life; and you do as well. But I also welcome it. That's because, one day, I'll have vengeance on the Enemy that forced me into this; and you will as well. We walk this road for one destination - that is to extirpate the Covenant, and that destination is more than worth it. That's the only destination.
"So stand up and bare your fangs! We're spartans - we face hell and we embrace it!"
Beta Company roared in applause. Tom hadn't said a lot. But his speech sent a fervor through the trainees. His words had tapped into some ingrained, instinctual part of everyone's minds. Something that Beta Company's instructors had been nursing for the last several years. Even Saint felt himself psyched up. Felt ready to do whatever was asked of him. Felt ready to graduate so that he could fight in the War.
"Company dismissed."
Everyone dispersed, heading out from the camp down the mountainside toward their positions. Tom looked up and signaled for Saint.
"Where's the rest of the scouts?" Tom asked.
Saint turned. Sindy and Jonah showed up, with about 24 trainees behind them. They made up the bulk of Beta Company's standard recon scout force. They were typically grouped into teams of two, with Sindy acting as their commander and Jonah as the adjutant commander. Saint wasn't really part of the force. He was one of only four - well, now down to three - operating as Advance-Range Scouts, meaning that he had a degree of autonomy and was expected to perform long-range solo recon patrols for long stretches of time.
Sindy and Jonah arrived downhill with the rest of the scout force lined up behind them.
"Is that everyone?" Tom asked.
Jonah gave a thumbs-up.
"Alright. Gather 'round. I'll only explain once:
"Beta Company's mission is to exterminate a hostile neln-pack, identified by Saint's intel to be nested within this location. We don't have their exact numbers, but it doesn't matter. Their nests house at-most ten, so we'll assume maximum enemy strength. We'll draw them in by way of a feint to ensure all hostiles are on-site. First and Second platoons will engage the nest first - they'll move in from the north, here... And harass the nest. Rocks, mostly. In response, the neln-denmother will issue its call to arms. We know she'll howl and signal for help. It'll alert them all, and that should draw any straggler nelns to the nest. When that happens, the First and Second will egress to RV point Bravo... That's here... And at the same time, Third, Fourth and Fifth platoons will begin cordoning off the southern and western approaches... Along this arc here... The nelns will be boxed in. And the fighting will begin. We'll draw their attention.
"That's where you all come in. Scout force is to encroach on the target site by way of the river, following it... Northward... Until you reach that cliff on the nest's eastern edge. The one right here... You'll have to climb... But that's the easy part. Once you've reached the top, the nest will be right there. And you'll have to worry about one thing: killing the denmother, since we know she doesn't leave the nest. You kill her, and the rest - if they're still standing - will scatter. Only hitch you might run into is cubs. But there's 27 of you. You can handle it.
"Questions?"
"How are we going to know when to commence our assault?" Saint asked him.
"Fire arrows. That'll be the signal for each phase of the plan, coinciding with the time. Your queue will be three arrows fired overhead from my position, which will be at the head of Third platoon. That shouldn't be any later than 1800 hours. Get into position, but don't attack until you see those arrows. Timing is everything... It'll be a lot easier once we take this place and can start hitting Currahee's armories. But until then, we adapt and work with what we have."
Tom stood up. Short, jet-black bangs hung low over his eyes. Eyes that didn't seem to have that glint they used to.
"And if those arrows don't come?" Saint followed-up.
Tom looked to Sindy. "They will. But I expect you to exercise judgment."
"Where do we stand?"
"Good and bad news, sir. Which one you want first?"
"Bad, Truniht. Give it to me straight."
"I received word from a little bird in Beta-5. Official report hasn't come out yet, but Commander Reuenstein's KIA. Covenant hit his star fortress about a month ago. Big boy fleet - 45 ships strong. The station was lost, and very few survivors made it out. I think ONI's trying to keep this one quiet - public morale's been plummeting steadily for over a year now, and they're probably worried about insurrection outbreaks. You don't need me to tell you... But without Reuenstein, our hands are tied. Tightly. And Colonel Ackerson has already developed a committee to review the Spartan-III deployment and maintenance strategy. He's going to weaponize that against us."
"The hell's the good news?"
"I may have found us a new ally. One with considerably more power than Reuenstein..."
"How many times do I have to tell you I don't like suspense, Truniht?"
"Do you know who Rear Admiral Bren J. Shepard is?"
"The Jericho VII hero? As I recall, he's the reason why Beta Company got started late. He was against the entire project, in fact."
"Keyword was. But it's no secret he's enemies with Ackerson; moreover, if you run the tracks from our backers, you'll eventually run into the name Officer Reservations Corps. Otherwise known as the ORC."
"Never heard of it."
"It's a shell department. On paper, they're responsible for registering and maintaining a schedule for officers of the Solar System Iron Militia Legion. Specifically R&R vacation trips. Unofficially, the ORC pulls leftover funds from ship construction budgets in the 4th and 6th Fleets. Redistributes those funds across a number of UNSC assets and defense projects."
"Illegal. At least, officially speaking. Let me guess - Shepard manages this ORC?"
"Exactly. And he's been funneling credits through the ORC to us since we began. Now, I don't know why, but my professional analysis is that Shepard partly feels responsible for Beta Company. A number of our recruits came from Jericho VII's orphans, which he personally oversaw following that campaign. I don't know if he knows that most of those kids are either dropped or dead by now. But he cares, and more importantly - he's discreet about it. You can't find the ORC on any official channels, and I only pulled it up with Deep Winter's help. And I had to do a lot of digging to pull out Shepard's name."
"But he's entirely unaffiliated with the project. How much is his influence really worth?"
"A lot. Aside from the fact that he's a well-known associate of Cole himself, Shepard's amassed himself a sizable powerbase of officers and NCOs operating out of the Solar System. And he's a war-hero. Not just because of Jericho VII... He was head of the fleet that responded to Reuenstein's distress signal. Shepard was on the 12th Fleet's flagship at the time they received the signal, and personally took charge."
"I thought you said the star fortress was destroyed."
"It was. But Shepard managed to rout the Covenant fleet, apparently. Details are still scarce. But he saved lives. He's at that point where people owe him favors even if he's never interacted with them before. That point where people do stuff for him and don't ask questions. Don't ask for anything in return."
"Impressive. Can you contact him?"
"I can... But the catch is that I'll have to go in person. Can't trust the Waypoint with this, not with that committee watching our every move. But he'll support us, I'm certain. We'll get those Headhunter slots expanded. We'll get those Specialist Teams."
"When do you leave?"
"Immediately. Managed to get a prowler buddy to scoop me up; he's waiting at the spacefield."
"That's risky. Even for you, lieutenant. Shouldn't ever trust a prowler captain, I don't care who it is."
"I know. I haven't told him anything - just asked for a ferry to Reach. Won't raise any eyebrows with that. From there, I'll just make my way to Earth off public transit. Either way, we have to reach him. Auto-Ms ain't cheap."
"Good luck. But be quick. We're going to need him before we begin the augmentations."
Saint slipped - and barely caught a second grip. Chunks of rock crumbled down, pelting his head like fat blocks of hail. It paused him in his tracks, and he nearly lost his footing. Clung to the cliff face like a spider. Held on for dear life and refused to look down. Then he steeled himself, and climbed another step. And another step. Took in a gulp of air, and made another step. Wind blew hard and threatened to slip him up yet again. This time, he tightened himself against the cliff. Stayed put until the wind settled down, and checked his chronometer. 1812 hours. And he hadn't seen anything remotely resembling three fire arrows. So Tom was behind schedule. Not entirely surprising - all plans break apart once the first shot is fired. Once the first play is made. But it was worrying, because screw-ups in this scenario meant that lives were being lost.
And Saint's ears confirmed that. He could hear the bestial roars of nelns. A guttural and choppy sound. Echoing loudly, to the point where it seemed physical. Monstrous and screeching, all at once.
Have to... Move! Saint lunged himself upward. It was risky, but he closed the gap to the top. A hand reached down toward him. He clasped it, and was hauled the rest of the way by Catalina.
"Thanks," Saint said, breathing heavily as he unstrapped his spear and scanned around. Sure enough, they were on the rear side of the nest. It was a massive mound. Like the size of a 3-story building. And it looked like an upscaled anthill. Gaping holes pockmarked it, leading to an inky black interior where the denmother would be. Only then did Saint realize that nobody had any source of light. They would be walking into the neln nest without any illumination.
"Sindy says we're going in," Catalina told him. Her voice wavered just a tad. Barely noticeable. But Saint wasn't the type to miss much.
Saint cupped her chin in his hand. Held her head up to look her directly in the eyes. "I'll be in there with you. We all are, and we're all scared. But Ambrose taught us how to use that fear. You'll be alright."
She nodded. Good.
Saint took a moment to smear some dirt on his face and arms, then slid his way over to Sindy. She was crouched at the head of their formation, rubbing something on the tip of her spear.
"Lone Wolf," she whispered by way of greeting as he arrived.
"What's that?" He pointed to the fat leaf she rubbed on the spear. She tossed it to the ground.
"Illee seed." She looked at him a second. "Guess there are things you don't know. Found some last week, been waiting for a chance to use it," she told him, holding the spear up to her eyes to inspect it closely.
Poison. Nice. Risky, but nice.
"Alright. Well, let me lead the way."
"No. I'm in charge, Saint. Follow me."
He shook his head. "I know how nelns think. And I've got more experience with them than anyone else. It's easy to get lost in there."
Which was true. Ever since being on Onyx, Saint had been in run-ins with nelns on multiple occasions. So far, he hadn't ever killed one. They were far too dangerous to handle alone. But he was familiar with the way they behaved. The way they moved. And that was important, because nelns - although similar to wolves - moved different. It was almost... Ethereal, in a way. They could move omni-directionally. Someone unfamiliar with experiencing that firsthand would be at a distinct disadvantage - they'd be looking for something like a regular animal, which was fatal.
Also, Saint admitted to himself, whoever went in first would be the most vulnerable.
And he simply didn't want Sindy in particular to take on that risk. Didn't want her putting her neck on the line like that. Despite their past, she was one of the few people Saint realized he could stand to talk to for more than a few minutes.
Sindy sighed. Patted him on the back. "Ohkay. Take us in."
Saint took a deep breath. Waited a beat and glanced upwards. The fire arrows finally came. His chronometer told him it was 1810. He lifted a hand and signaled for the team to follow him, and took off. Spear held at the ready. He cleared the distance to the nest in about 20 seconds. Made it to one of the holes burrowed in the side of it. There were tracks covering the ground, both heading into and out of the nest. He quickly snapped off another series of hand signs - warning everyone to stick close and stay in line. Then he swallowed, and ran inside.
The first immediate sensation was one of cold. The temperature dropped starkly, leaving Saint with goosebumps along his arms. And then there was the smell. Putrid and intense. It coated his nostrils; filled his lungs. He had to consciously ignore it. Which wasn't too difficult, because his attention was entirely focused on his surroundings. The nest was dark inside. Difficult to make out any fine details, even as his eyes jumped everywhere: ahead, to the left, to the right, above. Below. Pathways branched off in multiple directions. But as long as Saint kept to the paths that descended, he'd reach the inner chamber area where the denmother would be. Saint figured it would be a quick fight. Fast and brutal.
The spear trembled in his shaking hands, and his only true reassurance was the presence of the others behind him. On this occasion at least, Saint was glad he had a team with him.
Time became unclear to Saint. He wasn't sure how long they'd been inside the nest. But finally, he spotted a large opening at the end of the pathway he was in. Dark and gaping. Even though his eyes had adjusted to the darkness somewhat, he could only barely discern the chamber. The only sources of light were from glowing cocoons lining the walls and ceiling. Cocoons housing infantile nelns yet to be hatched - a fate none of them would reach, if Saint and the scouts proved successful.
A memory tugged at the corner of his mind. He thought back to words Ambrose had given the company many months ago. "A Spartan faces the promise of injury and the risk of death, and embraces it. Spartans expect to be disadvantaged, and this expectation drives their will and focus. There is no such thing as fear - only the anticipation of your true purpose: to exist and thrive against stacked odds. A Spartan is nothing if not challenged by the realization that his or her life is on the line. And a death, in the midst of that true purpose, is not to be feared. It's to be hoped for; it's a privilege and an honor. You will die on the battlefield..."
Saint processed the memory. Like a computer running some type of system-cleaning program. Then he remembered Tom's speech from earlier. He drew conviction from the memories. And instead of analyzing the words, he consumed them. Let them wrap around his mind like a protective shell.
Then he gritted his teeth and sprinted. Ran headfirst into the chamber. "Let's go!"
Saint practically flew into the chamber at top speed. All he saw were glowing red eyes. Orbs. Six of them, wide-open and staring from across the room. It was the denmother. And it looked as though it'd been waiting on them.
The fight was going to be over quick.
Saint ran at it full-speed. Didn't bother to slow down. His primary weapon was a spear, something best used up close and personal. But he had just enough time to register the denmother move - a ghostlike shifting of light, as though the animal had transformed shape - before he dodged to the right.
He was fast. But not fast enough. Something clipped his left leg and seared through skin and flesh. A blow that would've torn his entire leg off and killed him had he been a tad bit slower. He toppled to the ground and rolled with the impact. The only thing keeping him from screaming in pain was the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Still, he bit his lip. Looked up and spotted the neln on the ceiling, moving fast. Too fast, and too out of reach. One of it's tails extended from behind it and snaked out like a lightning bolt. The sharpened end speared through someone - Saint couldn't tell who - and then whipped at breakneck speed. Flung the scout into a group of others and sent them tumbling to the floor. Not even half a second later, the denmother stabbed through another scout. And another. A crescendo of screams, shouts and horror filled the chamber. Showers of blood and limbs. And it didn't stop. The denmother was using each of its tails like its own spears. So powerful and quick that there was virtually no defense against it save for perfectly-timed evasion.
But the fight wasn't over yet.
Saint sucked up the pain in his leg and got to one knee. Then he held his spear like a javelin. He wasn't the strongest and wasn't the best thrower in Beta Company. Not quite. But he wasn't trying to deal damage. He just needed the neln to move. Needed it on the ground. In range of attack. So he hurled the spear as best he could. The denmother's eyes jerked in his direction, and the neln dipped to the floor. Fast as a dwarka-squirrel and as graceful as a cat. But now vulnerable to attack.
"Kill it!"
The scouts swarmed on the denmother like a pack of piranhas. Violent and eager and desperate. Fighting ensued, and Saint couldn't quite make out who was winning. But he assumed it was the denmother, which was leaping around so wildly it looked like a living tornado. More bodies were thrown aside.
A bloodied spear landed next to Saint. He snatched it up as he stood, then scanned the chamber. Found what he was looking for off to one side, opposite from where the fighting was. Pulled out one of his rocks. He limp-ran his way towards the glowing cocoon, utterly aware of the blood freely leaking from his leg. Need to end this fight. Now.
Saint made it to the cocoon. But he didn't get there first. Sindy was there. Of course. Her face and clothes were covered in blood. Eyes wide.
She held out her palm. "Gimme your spear!"
"No - gimme yours!"
Sindy didn't argue this time. Instead, she stepped into him. Snatched the spear from his hands and shoved him back.
Saint's leg was in too bad a shape to do anything but roll with it. He hit the ground and hissed in pain. Crawled back a few steps, and wished he had the strength to not feel helpless. He watched as Sindy hefted both spears. She took aim with one of them. Flung it as though she were throwing a gravball. It arced into the darkness. And despite the low-light, there was no question it hit its mark. Because the denmother yelped, then let out one of those guttural roars. The screech reverberated through the chamber and rolled Saint's insides. Gave him a sense of dizziness. But the spear had done its job, and the denmother immediately turned to Sindy - who held up the second spear, and stabbed it straight through the cocoon.
Another roar sounded out. This one sharper and quicker. Rattled Saint's bones as though he were in a blender.
The denmother flashed across the chamber. So fast it appeared unreal, like its legs weren't moving in sync with the rest of its body. Charging headfirst into Sindy, who held that second spear at her side. She raised the weapon at the last second, jamming it between her chest and arm and bracing it against the wall - and then the denmother slammed into it. The spear, and Sindy.
"No!" Saint screamed.
He scrambled across the ground and forced himself to his feet. The denmother was dead - there was no doubt of that. The spear was lodged deep into the animal's skull. But it'd crashed into Sindy. She was wedged between the neln and the wall. Lifeless. Saint limped his way over and fought to move the denmother. But he wasn't strong enough.
"Hold on, Sindy," he whispered. He glanced back at the other scouts. Half of them appeared down for the count. The rest were regrouping. "HELP!"
Then he wobbled on his legs. Collapsed to the ground and passed out.
December 25, 2540
0230 Hours Northern Standard Time
Unknown location, Onyx
Unknown location
Saint became aware some time later. Consciousness and thinking flooded throughout his body like a suffocating person finally breathing in air. His eyes shot open. Staring into a starry nighttime sky.
Alive.
Saint lifted himself upright like a machine coming to life. The first thing he noticed was his leg. It was swollen and bandaged, but otherwise appeared fine. Definitely wasn't infected. Someone had shot him up with biofoam. Then he noticed the others. Dozens of other trainees lying on their own sleeping bags, all of them sporting grievous injuries. Bandages and makeshift stints. And the smell was one of soft cinnamon. The smell of fusogauze antiseptic. Beta Company's precious medical supplies were probably drained to nothing at this point. But... If the heavily forested and flat environment was an indicator, they'd won. Routed the nelns. Taken themselves a new campsite.
"You're up," a voice said from behind.
Saint didn't turn around. Didn't want to agitate his leg. It was still hurting. "What happened, Tom?"
Tom scooted across the ground until he was sitting next to Saint. A bandage was wrapped around his head.
"We won," Tom said. "High cost. Lots of casualties. But we won. You guys did it."
Saint grunted. It didn't feel like a victory. It just felt like pain and... Melancholy. And Tom's voice sounded that same way. Sounded resigned. "Where's Sindy?"
"She's... Hurt. Badly. But she'll recover."
"Catalina? Jonah?"
"Jonah's got a leg injury like yours. Catalina's fine."
Saint nodded. Looked at Tom. "How's Lucy?"
"She's alright. But look," Tom's voice got serious. "This was the easy part."
"I know it," Saint sighed.
"We have to start making plays if we want to survive. With this base, we can operate way more effectively and from a hidden area. First thing we need is supplies."
"Weapons. Armor."
"Right. We know Currahee has several armories. But we can't assume anything else. They'll have beefed them up a lot since we last saw them. What do you think?"
"I don't think we should go for an armory. Not yet."
"Really?"
"Too predictable," Saint warned him. "Remember, you've always gotta put yourself in the headspace of the opposition. Think about things from their standpoint, and imagine what they're assuming about us and how we'll likely act. They know a lot about us, our tendencies, our behaviors, and the stresses we're going through - they'll use that information, just like we would if we were them."
Saint took in a deep breath and continued. "I'm betting Ambrose knows you're going to take an aggressive stance toward getting Beta Company equipped so that we can fight when the time comes. Which obviously means armories, because those house the equipment needed to arm the entire company."
"What's your recommendation?"
"Is Kat ohkay?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Then we can hit the Command Center."
Tom shook his head. "You've always got crazy ideas, bro."
"They don't house enough stuff in there to arm the entire company, for sure... But we can get something even better: a copy of the security access program. It would make infiltrating any facilities ten times easier, especially with Kat - and the best thing is that we could farm enough locations to where we wouldn't even need to hit an armory. It'll take longer, but it's a much better approach in the long run. There's just one hitch."
"What's that?"
Saint frowned. It was a big hitch. "Ambrose is always a step ahead. Even when he isn't. He's probably already planned for that. In fact, he might be expecting it. There's a reason why nobody can beat him at 3D MWC - even Deep Winter." Saint was referencing 3-dimensional Multi-Worlds Chess. A variant of the boardgame played with multiple holographic boards intersecting each other at various angles. It was popular among smart people, and Ambrose was unbeatable.
"So... We're out of good options then. Like always."
"How much time do we have?" Saint asked him.
"Deep Winter says the first assigned missions are going to be issued in March. We need something more than just sticks and rocks by then if we want to win. And I guess Ambrose is going to know that, so he'll be playing hardball over the next few weeks."
Saint nodded. "Ohkay. But we have time. Let me heal up, and I'll get us that access program myself."
"Well, you've never lacked for confidence."
Kurt Ambrose took a step back from the window.
The kids would be catching hell. Certainly. But Kurt wanted them to embrace that hardship. He needed them to, for their own sake.
Kurt had intensified the indoctrination over the past year. Beta Company were Spartan-IIIs. And though there was still some hope that Rear Admiral Shepard might be able to thwart Ackerson, Kurt simply didn't expect it. Shepard was... Too straight-arrow. Was a fighter, but he wasn't the type to tangle with people like Ackerson, who thrived off ruthlessness. And countering Ackerson would take more than power - it'd take an equal measure of ruthlessness. Someone who was willing to get others killed. Shepard simply didn't seem to have that quality, and the truth was simple: to fully stop Ackerson would require someone to get the man killed. Anything less would be unsuccessful. The best Kurt allowed himself to hope for was substantially increased funding. But that was a long shot.
And that meant that after graduation, almost all of Beta Company was going to be sent on suicide missions. Operations so abysmally stacked against them that they'd be near-impossible. Missions in the heart of the lion's den and with very little intel. Missions that were insanely difficult.
Too difficult, even, for John.
So Kurt had taken the unethical decision path. The Spartan-IIIs needed to be violent, vicious, aggressive, ruthless. A one-minded drive for combat, warfare and slaughter. They needed to want that madness and thrive in it. They needed to want to be in hell. Because that type of ferocity would be the only thing to keep them alive after deployment.
It was unethical. Kurt wondered if this was the kind of thing the Doctor had grappled with when she'd conscripted him and his fellow Spartan-IIs. Doing the unethical out of necessity. None of the kids in Beta Company would remain... Human. Not in mind, nor body. The expectation was that none of them would survive the War - if anybody did, anyway - and so Beta Company was not expected to function outside of military combat-roles. The kids were being bred for one thing: warfare against the Covenant, and death upon the battlefield.
It was unethical. But Kurt wondered if that would be Beta Company's legacy. His own Spartan-II class had been given harsh training, but they'd been expected to quell insurrectionists and bring peace among humanity. Expected to engage with other humans and, ultimately, treat them as such. The Covenant hadn't even existed as an enemy back then, and so the IIs had never been instilled with the same near-psychotic thirst for fighting. The desire for death in the line of duty. So Beta Company was very different in that regard. Alpha Company had paid the price for Kurt's conscience, and he wasn't going to make that mistake with Beta Company.
It was unethical. And Kurt wondered if he would regret his decisions. Then he thought about what would come next. After Beta Company. Part of Kurt desperately wanted to get back out there on the frontline. Get back out there with his family. Get back out there with the Master Chief. And the others. Jorge, Fred, Will, Linda, Kelly, Joshua, James, Grace... All of them. But that was no longer Kurt's purpose. His was to breed the new era of Spartans. Preliminary budget reports were already starting to filter in about the as-yet-to-be-determined Gamma Company. A conceptual final-form of the Spartan-III project. A proposed company to be built off an ideal, perfected version of Alpha and Beta companies training regimes.
Assuming, of course, that the UNSC would survive to that day.
Kurt then wondered about the mistakes he'd made, and how best to correct them for the future. Beta Company wasn't yet graduated, but he'd undoubtedly made some missteps.
Biggest was the education side of things. Kurt's intention had been to make well-rounded, highly intelligent Spartans. Warrior-philosophers. But that decision had been made under the belief that Beta Company was going to turn the tide of the War. And win it. Beta Company was supposed to be the difference maker; they were going to beat the Covenant, and go on to serve important administrative and leadership roles when the time comes for the UNSC to rebuild its infrastructure and society. Unfortunately, the past few years had been brutal on the UNSC - and Kurt now wondered if the military government would survive the next decade. That seemed to be... Unlikely.
So for the hypothetical Gamma Company, he would reduce most of the education and ramp up the indoctrination at the start.
And, most importantly, Kurt would use his connections to requisition 009762-OO outside the purview of Project: CHRYSANTHEMUM's overseers.