"Spartan Group Omega. Suppressive fire on the enemy force advancing up the main road." John commanded calmly over the COM. Six green acknowledgment lights lit up on his hub. Assault and Battle rifle fire caught the advancing enemy by surprise, four of their number dropping when their protection failed, and they were found in the open. The attackers took cover behind the wreck of a warthog, rounds whizzing overhead.
John knelt next to the window, looking at Carter, who sat across from him, holding a shotgun. Carter stood up, blasting back an attacker that emerged from a cloaking field, his grenade going wide and missing the window. He pumped the shotgun twice, hitting two more attackers, then getting down into cover. He nodded at John and made a quick hand signal. "Position secure."
"Enemy forces bringing up support equipment," Linda said over the COM, the sound of her rifle in the background. There was a pause. "Joshua is down! I am relocating along with Green Team."
John activated the augmented reality of the BATTLENET, looking at what his fellow Spartans had been able to detect. The enemy had surrounded the compound and were pounding it with rockets and heavy machine gunfire. They were setting up HMG's to fire against each window and opening, using the near-infinite ammo of their weapons to lay down unending suppressive fire. The enemy had right positions, using the surrounding urban terrain to set up ambushes and advance unopposed until they reached the thirty-meter gap between the Spartans base and the
Kelly ran in from across the room, holding two SPNKR rocket launchers and five rockets under her arms. She slid into cover near Margaret-053, the leader of Black Team. "These are the last rockets. Take your team and take out their armor." Kelly said as an anti-material round passed through a crack in the wall, splashing across the opposite wall.
Margaret grabbed the rockets, then called out over the COM. "Black-Two, Black-Three, take these rockets and flank them. Black-Four will provide overwatch from the first floor."
With a mental command, John brought up a map of the factory he and his squad were holding. Blue had been split up, and each member had been tasked with controlling a Spartan team. John saw Linda was holding the second floor with Green Team, although two markers were classed as wounded, while one had gone black. Joshua. Kelly and Black Team were a mobile reserve and were preparing to attack the enemy armor. Fred had taken the Spartan Threes and Red team and were flanking the enemy advance to engage them in CQC.
The enemy advance was relentless, but they were slowed nevertheless. The Spartans could still pull through.
Kelly and Margaret got up, running to the right, when a barrage of heavy rounds hit Kelly in the side of the head, causing her to spin and fall in a static heap. Margaret snatched her rocket launcher and ran on, intent on completing the mission.
John got to his feet and charged towards Kelly, grabbing her arms and dragging her towards the kitchen where there was more cover. The wall facing the enemy was quickly breaking away under sustained heavy impacts, and protection was quickly running out. Bolts of blue energy shot through the air, impacting near John as he dragged his fellow Spartan into cover. His barriers took several impacts, but he managed to get Kelly to safety.
A vicious war cry echoed over the battlefield, followed by the thunder of footsteps. A hole was blasted into the gate of the former factory. Grenades sailed through the gaps, but the Spartans were too quick, and the defenders had already taken cover.
Jorge stepped forward, chaingun in hand. He laid down suppressive fire as the enemy advanced behind shields of orange energy, firing submachine guns with their free hands. His massive firepower broke the shielding, and the attackers collapsed as the integrity of their wall broke. The Spartans counterattacked, driving the enemy back with shotguns and close-quarters combat, throwing their enemies around, or blasting them from point-blank range.
The door that Gold Team was supposed to be guarding was suddenly kicked open, revealing a Batarian holding a massive flamethrower in both arms. A blast of red spread across Jorge's Mjolnir armor, the spartan fell, his heavy machine gun firing wildly as his fingers tightened around the trigger finger.
"Hah. You're all dead," The Batarian said, spraying the interior of the room with a thick layer of red paint, then holding up his weapon triumphantly.
"So are you," John said, appearing from behind the doorway he'd been hiding behind and shooting the intruder in the back.
"Hrrraggrrrhg." The Batarian groaned as the stun rounds caused his armor to flail around, then lock up.
John turned to look at the prop that the Spartans had been defending. It had been painted red. A game over.
"Objective destroyed. Wargame over." A voice over a loudspeaker said as the lights around the training course came to live, illuminating the formerly dark training ground. Soldiers that had moments before been playing dead climbing to their feet as the armor lockdowns lifted. The dozens of Batarian soldiers lying on the 'factory' floor rose up, rubbing the thick red dust and paint off of their armor. Jorge got up, red from head to toe. The Spartan had taken it upon himself to play up the effects of being hit, but it had been effective. If the flamethrower had contained its standard chemical loadout, the Spartan would have been boiled inside his suit.
"Objective Wargames.
Citadel: Three. Spartans: Seven." The mechanical announcer said.
John noted the time. The Spartans had been thirty seconds from winning the game. He offered the Batarian a hand and pulled him to his feet. "Report. How did you get past Gold team?" John asked the Batarian as he looked at the doorway through which he had entered. He saw the members of Gold Team getting up and starting the cleanup of the room, removing shell casings and the larger bits of debris. He saw a faint flicker in the air. As if on cue, a squad of Salarians with heavy Venom shotguns appeared, omni-tools active.
"That was us." Kirta, their squad leader, said, removing his helmet. "We jammed their signals. Still took us three squads to distract them. Balak ran past while your Spartans were kicking us around in hand to hand."
John made a mental note of that. The Salarians had to have overwhelmed Gold between the periodic checkups the fire-team leaders under his command gave him. He wondered how long the Salarians had taken to notice that.
The Batarian had removed his helmet, clipping it to his belt. "I admit. You move far too fast for someone in such bulky armor." He glanced over John's Mjolnir.
Kelly stood up, rubbing her throat where the round had impacted, a sticky blue dust covering her fingers. "Lucky shot."
The Batarian grunted. "You say that every time someone shoots you."
"You're all very lucky." Kelly insisted.
Cleaning robots had emerged from outside the converted hanger, moving to begin dismantling the prefabricated structures until the next training scenario would be devised. For the last three days, the Spartans had been competing in constant wargames.
John examined the interior of the factory, noting that there were more holes in the walls than last time. The attackers had learned and were removing the Spartan's cover from a distance before advancing. John activated the augmented reality mode of his HUD, showing him exactly where each Spartan had been hit, how they had fallen, and who they had taken out themselves. This had been the worst round so far, with their opponents using their previous defeats to hone their tactics. The Spartans had so far won nearly each deathmatch, but had been taking losses in objective based wargames, where the Citadel could deploy their variety of Special forces, and superior numbers to win.
For the last three days, the Spartans had been performing numerous combat exercises and scenarios with their new allies. The enemy had managed to score seven Spartan kills this round, suffering fifty losses of their own. Citadel special forces were good, but they weren't Spartans.
Nialla hovered up towards the window still, sitting down and looking at the interior of the building. "Excellent performance, Spartans." The woman said, saluting the chief. "You're damn good shots. We can't use our jetpacks to fly without your snipers hitting us out of the air in seconds. My pride still hurts from when Blue Team's sniper shot us all down." She then noted the red dust covering every surface of the room. "We should be happy the Covenant don't have chlorine trifluoride flamethrowers, because this is the secomd time you've lost because of it."
John nodded. "Crude, cruel, and effective. What I've learned to expect from the Batarians. What was the friendly fire rate?"
"Half of the flamethrower teams," Nialla said. "I think we lost more Batarians to misfires than to you."
John had at first objected to the Batarian flamethrowers in the wargame, noting that it would not meaningfully damage Mjolnir armor, until he had been informed of the payload. Instead, each time the trigger was pulled, there was a realistic chance the operator of the weapons and the surrounding twenty meters would have their armor lock down.
Balak crossed his arms, a grin on his face. It almost made John forget that he was a ruthless commander of a slave-owning autocracy. Almost. "Chlorine Trifluoride is dangerous. That's why we use it. We're the only ones brave enough to do so."
"Or crazy," Nialla muttered.
Balak rolled his four eyes and walked out of the factory, yelling at his men for their lackluster performance in the training simulation.
Emile looked up from the shotgun that he was delicately cleaning. He walked up towards Nialla, looking her over. "That's because we have to guard this piece of junk, you alien bitch." The Spartan Three said, kicking the metal prop that represented an 'ONI Intelligence Asset.' "We would have kicked your asses in a straight up brawl, like we did last game."
"Private First Class, Emile-A239." John said, anger in his voice. "That is conduct unbecoming of a Spartan. You are on cleanup detail for a month." John was optimistic about the Spartan Threes, and approved of most of them, but was quickly losing his patience with Emile and his blatant disregard of protocol and the usage of uncouth language. The other Spartans in the building turned to look at the uncommon sight of a Spartan being reprimanded.
John realized he had just given the first reprimand to another Spartan that he could recall, and wasn't sure how to feel about it. But he knew the punishments that were appropriate, and would hand them out as needed.
"Whatever you say, boss man." The Spartan said, leaving the building, leaving John speechless at the display of a fellow Spartan being insubordinate to him.
The Turian looked at John, then quickly let herself fall backward and flew back to her soldiers with a puff of her jump-pack, evidently eager to avoid the awkward moment. Kelly nodded in approval at John, then left the room to go about her duties.
John motioned for Carter, the unofficial leader of the new Spartans. Carter's armor was untouched by either gel, paint, or dust. "Carter, has Emile always displayed these insubordinate tendencies?"
"No, sir. " Carter said, with a bit too much reverence for John's liking. "Spartan Emile was always aggressive back in Alpha Company, but I've not seen him confront an officer like that. He must have issues interacting with aliens."
"Dismissed," John said.
He was in a foul mood from Emile's outburst. Spartans were not insubordinates and certainly didn't cuss them out. It was time he had a talk with Kurt about the Spartan Threes, and the signs of PTSD and other psychological defects he'd noticed during their training exercises.
He passed Fred sitting across from a Turian and a Batarian as they examined each other's omni-tools. John's HUD indicated that Fred was downloading a package of custom Omni-blade and Omni-fist addons, several in fact. At least one member of Blue Team was having a good day.