Chapter 3: Metal

The Pelican began its descent from orbit.

It was dark inside the passenger compartment, save for the dull red light glowing by the rear hatch. Five Marines sat on each side, their weapons between their knees and pointing upwards. Everyone sat erect and still. Their olive drab armor was nearly as black as the metal walls of the dropship. All wore balaclavas and only their eyes were visible.

Occasionally, one would adjust a strap on their rucksack or tug a section of their body armor back into place. Sometimes, a Marine would sigh or make a restless, sputtering sound. Up by the cockpit, a Marine checked his watch. He stood up and ducked into the cockpit. When he sat back down, he held up one finger. A moment later, the pilot spoke over the comms.

"One minute," he said in an emotionless voice. All of the Marines held up their index finger.

"One minute," they all said, "one minute."

Steele squeezed the barrel of his sniper rifle tightly. He was sure if he wasn't wearing gloves, he could have seen his white knuckles. Sharply, he inhaled.

He felt a fist on his shoulder. Looking over, he saw Corporal Frost's genial gray gaze. His grasp shifted, clasping Steele by the collar of his body armor. Lightly, he shook him then tapped him on the top of the helmet.

"No fear," he said over the TEAMCOM, as the Pelican's descent created a great rush of air that could deafan a man.

"Do I look afraid?" Steele asked, brushing a blonde locke away from his eye.

"You look like you could bore a hole right through that seat, Lance Corporal," Sergeant Teo said over the commlink.

Shaking his head, he avoided eye contact with everyone else. Some of the others chuckled. The pilot's voice returned.

"Thirty seconds."

All of the Marines held up their thumb and index finger horizontally, keeping them spaced by an inch.

"Thirty seconds, thirty seconds," they said together.

The Pelican shuddered. Everyone was jostled in their seats; their armor made a metallic clunking sound. When it passed, Steele could feel the floor vibrate steadily as the dropship's speed decelerated. It was almost like riding shotgun in a Warthog; when the driver began to brake, one could feel the fast attack vehicle's entire body slow down, and the occupants' bodies sank slightly into the seat cushion. Were it not for the harnesses attached to the hull, he would have been shaking just like the craft.

As the Pelican slowed, the pilot counted down, "Ten seconds, nine, eight..."

When he got to one, the Pelican jolted as the landing gear deployed. The crew chief got up and went to the rear hatch. The light turned green. Immediately, the Marines removed the harness and stood up. In the same instant, the rear hatch hissed as the cabin depressurized. It opened and the ramp lowered. Turning around and stepping to the side, the crew chief motioned out of the Pelican with the flat of his hand. The squad filed out, hopping onto the tarmac and into the cold rain.

They were on the airfield of an extensive Army base located on an island offshore of Lionel City. It was a true fortress. The perimeter was shaped like a pentagon, with concrete walls standing five stories high. On each side of the walls were titanium armor plating, wet and glistening in the searchlights. At each point in the perimeter there was a formidable tower, laced with firing ports, heavy machine guns, and rocket pods. Along the ramparts, Army troopers scanned the sea. Some watched the inside of the base and their gazes followed the Marines as they walked.

Wolverines were entrenched in the grass on either side of the runway. Their dual missile pod launchers were pointed skyward and scanned back and forth. Sandbags lined their pits and there was a squad of Army troopers at each one. Like those atop the ramparts, they watched the Marines march towards the base. Each soldier wore a poncho which was flapped, pulled, and thrown about in the wind. None seemed to care, though, standing stock still as the rain pelted them.

At the end of the long tarmac, lit up with red and green lights along the sides, were a series of hangars. Dozens of Falcons were being readied by their crews. Cockpit and compartment lights glowed green and red respectively, illuminating the mechanics. Behind the Falcons was a small fleet of Pelicans. As they were serviced, their rear hatches were left open. An eerie red ambiance emanated from the troop compartments of each dropship. Rainfall in these blooms seemed otherworldly.

Wind swept across the tarmac, sweeping the rain accumulating on it like little waves. Across from the helipads was the motor pool, where vehicles ranging from Warthogs to Scorpions sat. Overhead base lights cast white light above and behind them, making them look like an array of ghost machines. Their armor plating coarsed with rainwater and shimmered in the white arcs.

Beyond were a hospital, armory, depot, and numerous barracks blockhouses. Overlooking it all was a massive headquarters and administrative building. While every other structure on the base was dark and dormant, this one was bristling with light. Like the outer walls, it too was reinforced with armor plating.

Besides the steady rain pattering on the tarmac, all Steele could hear was the drum of booted feet and rustling equipment. None of the Marines made eye contact, keeping their gaze forward. When they neared the main compound, they saw another Pelican descending from the dark sky. He recognized it as Colonel Hayes' personal command Pelican and he rolled his eyes.

He elbowed Frost.

"Why're they making us get off the bloody Pelicans just to get on some other ones?"

"I think he wants to say something, or go over the brief again," Frost offered. "Not to mention they have to get the other MEU's down here too for the mop up."

Before entering cryo aboard the transportation flotilla, the Marines spent days preparing for the operation. Any operation, large and small, began with a briefing by the officers. A separate one was held for officers and non-commissioned officers, then they had a grand one with all members of the expeditionary unit. Sitting down in the hangar, officers showed them maps and grids, enemy hotspots, civilian locations, and UNSC stations. After getting a crash course on the planet, the actual mission brief began. ONI Section-One, military intelligence, gained information of an Insurrectionist recruitment drive in the dilapidated outskirts of Lionel City, Skopje. HIGHCOM was furious the flood of Insurrectionists fleeing the Outer Colonies, like rats on a sinking seacraft, were cementing themselves among the Inner Colonies. So, the 89th Marine Expeditionary Unit's first mission was to raid the meeting grounds and root them out.

Then began the smaller briefs. All of the components of the MEU, from the air wing, to the mechanized branch, the support units, and the line battalion, each held conference. Positions were analyzed, marked, and memorized. Specialists gave lectures on what job they would be doing, right down to which door they would be breaching. Who would be on overwatch, who would be on infiltration, who would make up the assault times, which personnel would detach to support them; every role was discussed and assigned. Once everyone was synced on the mission details, it was just a matter of putting their gear in order.

"Doesn't make any sense. We're ready," Steele muttered.

"Maybe the old papa's got something to say for our first mission," Ocampo said from behind him. "He's almost as big a windbag as you are, limey."

"He ain't half as smarmy as you are, ya Argie wanker," Steele said over his shoulder. He heard Ocampo snicker.

"Better be nice to me. I may not cover your ass when we get into the fire."

"I'd rather have any other Marine in this squad," Steele said, smiling under his balaclava. "Because if you end up next to me on the line, I might as well just off myself."

Everyone who heard chuckled, including Ocampo. He felt his friend's hand tap the back of his helmet.

"Semper Fi, limey."

"Semper Fi, Argie."

Overhead, they saw Pelicans and Albatrosses flying towards Lionel City Army Base. Their heavy vehicles would be transported there and would rendezvous with the infantry after the first phase of the operation was complete.

To Steele, the shadowy aircraft were so ominous they seemed to belong to a legend or fable. Beasts, carrying monsters of destruction in their bellies, silently prowling through rain clouds. Below, dropships continued to disgorge their complements of Marines. The heavily armed and armored soldiers walked slowly under the few courtyard industrial lights, briefly bathing them in orange and yellow glares. It was demonlike, how they appeared and disappeared in the gloom, wet, masked, and walking with machine-like movements. Their wet battle armor glistened. They did not feel the rain or the wind. It was as if they were made of metal. With so many squads, platoons, companies, sheer columns of Marines moving across the airfield, it gave the entire compound an otherworldly, inhuman quality of movement.

For the first time in his life, Steele felt his heart swell in awe. Finally, it seemed like all the power was on his side. Tanks, fast attack vehicles, self-propelled artillery and more were touching down across the bay. Hundreds of Marines were gathering around their commander. Every man was armed with the latest, deadly weaponry. In orbit was a flotilla of powerful ships.

Those days in London came back. A neglected, blonde haired youth prowled the streets looking for trouble. Most days, he found it. It was never just a simple insult or a bout of teasing. Each day fists fell on him, knees knocked the wind out of him, and heels bloodied his already swelling face. Pimple-faced, studded, grinning teenage hooligans laughed and mocked him, taking what few possessions he had. His brother was not there to save him, nor his father or stepmother. Nobody cared, not even the city itself. Sometimes he would look up at those glittering skyscrapers, built of concrete, titanium, and steel. They were only beautiful from a distance; they stood over refuse and rubble. If he stayed any longer, he was going to become a part of it.

Now, he was on the side with the biggest guns. That was fine by him.

The battalion assembled around Colonel Hayes. The colonel was standing on top of a supply crate. He cracked a red flare and tossed it on the pavement. As it burned, it was so bright some of the Marines in the front ranks had to step back. Hayes then took off his helmet and rolled his balaclava to the top of his head, wearing it like a wool knit cap. Rain water traveled down his face as he stared hard at the men.

"This is it," he began. "You've been training for three years. You have grown from boys to men, but you are more than that. You have become Marines; the best of the best, the roughest, toughest, meanest killers in the entire United Nations Space Command. When diplomacy fails, when the Colonies grow unruly, it is the Marine Corps they look to. These raggedy-ass Innies think they're top dogs because they can derail a train or detonate a bomb in a crowd of civilians. This is delusional. The UNSC Marine Corps is going to be their reality check and remind them their place is under a boot heel."

When he said this, he curled his left hand into a wrist and held it up. "What do you say, Marines? Do you want to get some blood on your bayonets!?"

Everyone thrust a fist into the air and cheered, even Steele. Hayes smiled. "You're gonna shoot until the barrels glow red hot!" Men started cheering. "You're gonna waste the rebels until you'll be sitting in piles of brass!" Marines hollered and whooped. "You wanna be aggressive, hyper, lethal, vectors!?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the entire battalion shouted.

"You're gonna kill'em all!" Hayes roared.

At this, the Marines went mad. They jumped, waved, swore, and cheered. Some of the Marines who were not wearing goggles were so excited their eyes were bulging. Everyone wanted to go. Even Steele found himself holding his sniper rifle up in the air, shaking it as the barrel pointed skyward.

They were not the modern soldiers of the 26th Century. Instead, they had become warriors. Centuries ago, men gathered around roaring campfires; weapons in hand, faces painted, blood up, they listened to the chant of their party leader. What was said mattered little in the end, the outcome would be the same. They were going to find the enemy and kill them all.

###

The Marines piled into another Pelican. Before long, the hatch closed, and it took off. Immersed in the red glow and surrounded by metal walls, Steele sat back. This time they did not wear harnesses.

Everyone was still excited. Last minute weapon checks were conducted and Sergeant Teo went down both sides of the Pelican, checking each man's equipment personally. When he was satisfied, he tapped each man on the side of his helmet. After going over Steele's equipment, he hit his helmet very hard.

"You're beginning to act like a Marine," he grunted before retaking his seat.

"Man, this is gonna be awesome," said Ocampo, sitting on Steele's left. He held out the flat of his hand and Steele smacked his palm. Immediately, he stuck out his own and Ocamp hit it too.

"This is gonna be one hell of a light show. Been three years, I'm ready for some action," Steele remarked. He turned to Frost. "Nate, you ready, bruv?"

Frost turned and looked at him. His gray eyes twinkled in the dull light and he could tell from the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes he was smiling. He gave a thumbs-up gesture.

"Hell yeah, it's time we did some real shooting."

The two bumped their fists together.

"Gonna kick some real ass, boys," said Bishop, sitting across from them. He was holding his shotgun between his legs. "Rebels won't know what hit'em."

"Stay aggressive boys, but stay sharp," Teo said. "Let's go over it one more time. Steele, Ocampo, overwatch. Once we've breached the enemy perimeter, you'll be relieved by Third Platoon's sniper team. Me, Frost, Bishop, Wright, first assault team. Maddox, Knight, Grant, Moser, second assault team. Remember, we want to keep it quiet and go loud on our terms, not their terms. Am I clear?"

"Clear, sergeant!" everyone said.

"Alright give me a count. Kill on three."

"One, two, three, kill!" everyone said together. There was some chuckling, some more hand gestures, and a few more eager exchanges.

Then the passenger compartment grew quiet after that. The squad did not speak for a long time, or made any kind of sound or movement. Nobody coughed, sighed, or sneezed. No one drummed their fingers on the seat or on the barrel of their weapon, nobody patted their knees or tapped the seat they were in.

Steele noticed everyone was beginning to fidget as the journey continued. Curious, he looked at his hands which he kept wrapped around the barrel of his rifle. His grip was not tight, nor too loose, and he wasn't squeezing it like before. He found it odd it was earlier, before the mission even began that his knuckles were white under his gloves.

"Yo, I thought we were gonna be shooting Covvies," Ocampo suddenly said.

"Been training for three years to head to the Outer Colonies and we're heading to this place?" Bishop put in. "Why the last minute change? Everyone was saying 'Covvies, Covvies, Covvies,' and now they come up and say, 'Innies.' Fucking weird, boys."

"I never thought the human-to-human combat doctrines they were teaching us would ever come up," Maddox added. "Guess it'll pay off now."

"Not sure that I want it to," Frost grunted.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if I want to kill anyone," Ocampo said. "I'll kill a Covvie, sure, but I mean, people? Real people?"

"Well, they're Innies, right?" Steele offered. "They haven't stopped being the enemy last time I checked, little bruv."

"I know but there's all different kinds of Innies, aren't there? There's just those normal folks who go picketing with the goddamn signs, right? What if we end up putting holes in those kinds of folks instead of the hombres who shoot up malls?"

"Intel said this is a recruitment drive," Frost said, "so there'll probably be combatants and noncombatants all mixed up together. ROE says we're clear to engage anybody with a weapon but Hayes is acting like we're gonna blast anyone we find there. Even if I come across someone with a weapon, I might just try to disarm them if I can."

"This is not a prisoner snatch," Teo said then, "we're here to sweep and clear the area. I'm not hearing the aggression from earlier."

Silence fell again.

###

The Pelican began its descent and the crew chief rose to his feet.

"Stand up!" he yelled.

"Ten seconds..."

The rear hatch opened and the ramp lowered; the red light flashed green. The chief pointed out.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Steele was out before he knew it. The squad assembled in a semicircular position around the Pelican's stern. He looked through the scope, activating its night vision feature. For about three hundred yards in front of him, there was a grassy field. At the end was a soft rise in the landscape.

He covered his sector while the other Pelicans dropped their ramps and the Marines formed a perimeter. Once each squad was clear of the dropship, it closed its hatch, gained altitude, and flew back towards Lionel City. Steele didn't watch, only listened. After a few minutes, it was silent save for the pattering rain and whistling wind.

"All call signs, this is Watchman," Colonel Hayes voice came over the comms, "execute."

"Form a wedge an advance, Frost, on point," Teo said over the TEAMCOM. Everyone assembled in a reverse V, with the point facing the rise, and moved forward at a quick pace. Nobody was bounding, but they were not walking either. With so many hundreds of Marines moving at once, they made a lot of noise; armor rattled, rucksacks jostled around, and bandoliers slid around.

"Halt, halt, halt."

The battalion stopped at the bottom of the rise. Steele finally took a moment to look around. As far as he could see on both his left and right side, were crouching Marines. Their olive drab armor was so dark it looked black in the night. Marines were scanning the environment through their scopes or were providing security on their rear.

Scouts were sent up the slope. When the 'all clear,' was given minutes later, the units began to disperse under Hayes' instructions.

"Apex, left flank, Campus, right, Benchmark, direct front, Dagger..."

Steele and the others ascended the rise. From the top, he could see the abandoned, unfinished urban projects that they were to assault. The area of operations was divided into three sections in the shape of an a face-up horizontal L.

Along a road leading to the bottom section was a crumbling neighborhood, making up the length of the shape. At the right angle of the road was a ten story terraced apartment building. Beyond that at the end of the road was a very wide area with over a dozen apartment complexes in unfinished or mostly finished states. The more urbanized area was the assault location. A Company, call sign Apex, was clearing the neighborhood before assuming their assault position on the left flank of the target. C Company, call sign Campus, was circling on the right flank to cut off an escape route into the mountains. D Company, Dagger, was to leapfrog by Campus to take up a position on the opposite side of the target area. B Company, Benchmark, was going to take control of the lone terrace as an overwatch position before assaulting directly.

Once the Marine combat element was in place, a joint Army-Marine task force would journey through the city and secure the main exfiltration route. Combined with their heavy vehicles, the Marines would swarm the area, eliminating any of the Innies who put up a fight.

The company commander, Captain Bannerman, gave the radio signal to advance. Steele was behind Frost and Ocampo, who were side by side in front of him. As they went down the slope, they were quick and quiet.

They reached the road, turned right, and locked down the terrace apartments. Steele waited with Ocampo while the rest of the squad and other teams infiltrated the building. The two were back to back, Steele covering the road and Ocampo keeping his rifle on a gate on the adjacent compound wall.

"I think I might piss myself," Ocampo whispered over his shoulder.

"Don't get any on my boots," Steele hissed hastily.

"All Benchmark call signs," Captain Bannerman called over the SQUADCOM, "building is secure. Sniper teams deploy on the fifth floor."

Steele stood up, turned, and patted Ocampo twice on his right shoulder. Ocampo was right behind him as they went into the building. Other Marines came pounding down the stairs; when Frost came by, the two friends clapped each on the shoulder. After passing, Steele looked over his shoulder at him. Frost was laser focused and moving like a machine; he was in the zone. Steele wished he was going with him.

When they got to the fifth floor, Steele and Ocampo took the room closest to the stairwell. Because of its location, it was one of the few apartments that lacked a balcony. There was no furniture save for a small crate that once carried tools. Immediately, Ocampo grabbed the crate and brought it to the window. He flipped the latch and slid the window open. Steele sat down on the crate and propped the bipod on the sill. Letting the butt sit on the floor, he took off his helmet and removed his balaclava. His bright, blonde hair flopped to the left side of his head as he picked the rifle back up and looked through the scope. Ocampo knelt beside him with a pair of binoculars, resting his elbows on the sill.

"Okay...we've got one, two, three, four, repeat four armed foot mobiles standing guard. Confirm you have eyes on?"

Steele slowly moved the rifle and scanned the area. Each of the four rebel guards were standing at the entrance of several apartment complexes. All were leaning on walls, looking at mobile phones, or smoking cigarettes. None were taking their jobs seriously.

"Confirmed, eyes on four armed foot mobiles, automatic rifles, sidearms. Call it in."

Steele continued to observe the area. Many of the opposite apartments' windows were boarded up or there were curtains pulled tight. Light escaped through a small crack in a few of the windows. He tried to spy movements or silhouettes in those slim lights but could not find any.

His heartbeat was steady and his breathing controlled. Steele felt very comfortable.

"What's that? What's that?" Ocampo hissed.

"Be more specific."

"Unarmed foot mobile, female, running down the road, towards the target area."

"The fuck..." Steele shifted his rifle and found the woman. Although the scope offered night vision, he could not make any acute details of the woman besides her long black hair and slightly pudgy frame.

She was running as fast as he could to get into the target area. Steele put a finger to his earpiece. "I'm calling it in. Benchmark White Two-Actual, this is Benchmark White Two-Four. I have one unarmed foot mobile booking it to the target zone. Potential informant, she may have seen the birds, over."

"Two-Four, Two-Actual; she in a Innie uniform, over?"

"Two-Actual, Two-Four, negative. Requesting permission to engage, over."

"Two-Four, Two-Actual, taking it up the chain, wait one." There was a pause and he heard a frequency shift. "Benchmark White Six, Benchmark White-Two; sniper team has spotted unarmed foot mobile, break. Suspected Innie informat; sniper team is requesting permission to engage, over."

"Benchmark White-Two, this is Benchmark White-Six. ROE says we cannot engage anyone without a weapon. Permission denied, over."

"Solid copy." The frequency shifted. "Two-Four, Two-Actual, you copy that, over?"

"Solid copy, over." Steele shook his head. "Fuckin' ROE."

He watched as the woman ran into the compound. His heart rate increased. The nearest guard did not have an extreme reaction. When she came jogging up, he just put his mobile phone away and got off the wall. It confirmed his fear; she was a rebel sympathizer. She pointed, but not towards any of the Marine units. There was some shouting, and the guards slipped inside the buildings. She stayed outside.

Chatter resumed over the comms.

"We've lost the element of surprise," someone muttered.

"If we don't go in now, we're gonna miss the whole lot," another added.

"Cut the chatter, keep the comms clear," an officer ordered.

Steele checked his watch. The convoy was still twenty minutes away.

Then, the first groups began to exit the buildings. At first it was a trickle of two or three persons, then bunches of people both armed and unarmed.

"Fuck, we're losing them," Ocampo hissed. It was then that Hayes came over the comms.

"All call signs, execute the operation. Weapons free."

Steele flicked the safety off and scanned for targets.

"Top floor, building on the left, northwest corner. Innie with a pistol," Ocampo said. "Confirm you have eyes."

Steele shifted the rifle. He spotted the rebel looking through the window. The man was craning his neck to look down at the ground, searching either for Marines or observing the fleeing Insurrectionists.

He focused the reticle on the rebel's chest. It lit from blue to red.

"Eyes on."

"Send it."

The rebel turned slightly, Steele squeezed the trigger, and then the window was empty. All he could see was a large hole in the glass. Ocampo whistled. "Holy shit, you got him. Round hit center mass."

Steele took his eye from the scope for a moment. His breath hitched and his mouth opened a little. Slowly, he ground his front teeth, then he smiled.

Automatic gunfire erupted then as Marines stormed into the target zone. Yellow and white muzzle flashes lit up the grounds. Retreating Insurrectionists began falling. Sweeping the rifle back and forth, he continued searching the windows for targets. Another rebel appeared in a window below the first. When he opened the window and leaned out, he raised a rifle. Squeezing the trigger, Steele watched as the bullet struck the man in the head and the body fell out the window. It fell right into an open dumpster, sending a few pieces of loose trash into the air.

"Oh ho ho, wow..." Steele laughed, "did you fucking see that, bruv?"

"Dude, I did, that was great. Hey, got another one, right hand building, fifth floor."

Steele wheeled the rifle around. There was somebody in the window holding a pistol, standing as bold as brass in the center. It looked almost like a painting or a framed photograph. "Send it, bro." One trigger squeeze and the bullet hit center mass. The impact of the heavy caliber bullet sent the rebel back with such force, Steele saw his legs fly up when his back hit the ground. "Awesome. Got a runner, heading east up that rise. See him?"

"I got eyes on," Steele said, leading the target so the reticule was slightly above him.

"Send it."

He squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the man square in the back; it blew off his jacket and opened his back.

"That's four for four, baby," Steele said, dumping the magazine and sliding a fresh one into the rifle.

"I think I saw his fuckin' spine dude!" Ocampo declared, excited.

Steele kept scanning for targets. Then he saw the same woman who alerted the rebels. She must have seen the Marines approaching minutes earlier as she ran to the side of the building and was crouching in between two dumpsters.

"Fuckin' bitch," Steele grunted.

"Do you have eyes on a target? We've got a lot of blue down there, bro."

"Between the dumpsters, facing us."

"Yeah, I got eyes on." Ocampo looked up from his binoculars. "Should we wax her?"

Steele didn't have a chance to answer. A squad of Marines ran by her and one saw. He stopped and turned his helmet lamp on. She was bathed in white light and raised both hands. The Marine pulled out his sidearm and emptied the clip into her. When he walked away, her nose was shot off, an eye was bleeding, there was blood leaking from the holes in her cheek, and there was a tear in her scalp.

"Fuck me," Steele said, banging his head lightly on the cell wall, "I need a goddamn smoke."

He was still in the same dirty fatigues from a few days earlier. The smell of his body odor and mucked up uniform filled the cell to the point of revulsion. No one would let him shower and the meals they served were either bland or absolutely disgusting.

To him, a hunger strike was becoming far more desirable than forcing down the food the Army served.

Walking away from the walls he journeyed over to the window. He couldn't see through but he got so close his face nearly pressed against the glass. "Any of you cunts out there got a smoke to spare? I know you fuckers are out there, eh? Take a man's boot laces and belt, fine, fucking fine. Take a man's smokes? You're all real cock-suckers." There was no response. Aggravated, he hit the glass. "C'mon, you fucks! What is this, the fuckin' silent treatment? If I wanted the silent treatment from somebody I'd get married! Oh I know, General Amsterdam probably wants a confession, doesn't she? Well I got a confession for her right here!"

Steele back away from the window, unzipped his pants, and pulled his penis out. He grabbed it. "Here's my confession, General! Open wide!" Again, no one responded through the intercom or came through the door. Steele rolled his eyes and zipped up. "Bunch of boring sods. Hey, tell Amsterdam I fucked her XO. Oh yeah, that's right, I put the pipe to Colonel Campbell, how do ya boys like that? She's a real freak, I tell ya."

Steele waved at the window dismissively. "You lot are no fun." He began walking over to his bed.

With a loud hiss, the door opened. He turned around. Four Army troopers walked in. Steele was delighted. "Oh, you heard me?"

"No, it's time for your breakfast," one said coldly. "Stand against that wall, Marine."

Slowly, deliberately, Steele went to the far wall and faced the wall. He listened as two of the troopers came over to detain him, while one stayed at the door, and the fourth took his dinner to the bed.

As soon as he felt one of the men take his hand he whirled around and headbutted him. The soldier stumbled back. Instead of hitting him, the other guard tried to grapple him. Steele grabbed him by the shoulders then brought his knee up into the man's groin. When the soldier recoiled, he punched him square in the mouth.

Yelling, the guard who dropped the plate of food, charged. He swung, but Steele ducked and tackled him. Straddling him, he began hitting him in the face. Before he could get more than a few punches in, a rifle butt cracked against his head.

Steele immediately fell over and his hand went to the cut on his scalp. His ears rang a little and his vision was blurred. Someone came over and kicked him in the gut twice, but somebody stopped that man. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the four troopers. The first's nose was broken and was bleeding profusely, the second was missing a tooth and had a smashed lip, and the third's eye was already swelling. Meanwhile, the fourth man kept his assault rifle trained right above Steele's face until the soldier with the swelling eye took it away from him. He turned the safety off and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Everybody was talking. Steele couldn't hear them but he wasn't trying to listen anyways.

Finally, the first man spit on him and the third ushered everyone out. When they were gone, his hearing returned just in time to hear the door hiss shut and lock. For a while Steele, just lay there, feeling the blood trickle between his fingers.

Sitting up, he opened his other hand. In it was a pack of cigarettes and a packet of strike-anywhere matches. During the fight, he was able to rifle through some choice pockets and snag them. Grinning triumphantly, he put one to his lip, struck the match on the floor, and lit the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he felt the smoke fill his lungs. When he couldn't take in anymore, he sighed contentedly. Gray smoke filtered from his mouth and nose.

Army troopers always got better brands, he thought to himself.

Getting on his feet, he swayed a little and nearly fell over. After righting himself, he walked over to his bed and sat down. The dish had been dropped, but most of its contents were still on it. Lumped on his plate was a pile of mushy scrambled eggs that were cold and gray, as well as some wilted hash browns. There were no utensils and they must have forgotten to leave water.

Steele just put the plate to his side. He wished he was not alone; it made dealing with anything, from poor food to battle all the more tolerable. Anyone's company would have been preferable to nothing at all. Frost, Carris, any of his mates. It was then he thought of Ocampo. That brought a smile to his face.

Ocampo was an energetic, pranking brat from Argentina. Next to Steele, he was the most unsoldierly Marine in the entire 89th MEU. Both of them took a certain amount of pride in their being the battalion screw-ups. They rarely saluted superior officers, shirked their work details, pulled jokes on the more sensitive or easily-riled Marines, and found ways to skip out on other exercises. Most of the time, all they wanted to do was shoot on the range or play in the war games with the rest of the unit. Teo and Frost made sure both of them did not get away with it all that often.

At the end of the day, Ocampo and Steele would sit on his bunk playing poker and smoking cigarettes. Sometimes they wouldn't even talk, just slap the cards on the blanket until one of them won. Then they would pick them all up, reshuffle, and start playing again. By the time the call for lights rang out, they had gone through nearly a dozen games and four packs of cigarettes.

He missed that skinny bugger; he wondered what Ocampo would have thought of the squad now. Wright and Teo were dead, Frost was in charge, and they had iced more rebels and Covenant than they could count. What would he have thought of their actions during the rest of the Skopje campaign? Would he have broken down under so many years of nonstop warfare; he liked to think he wouldn't.

The more he thought about him, the more he remembered Skopje and the night he died. It wasn't that he wanted to; his mind began to crawl back to it, then race towards that night. Everyone was scared, excited, and disgusted all at once. There was no word for it, at least not one he could find.

There were so many bodies that night. In room after room, across the courtyard, up in the hills, there were bodies. Ripped apart by bullets, blown up, bludgeoned; they were hideous to look at. It was not the killing that disturbed him most, it was seeing the bodies afterwards. Steele still wasn't sure why; maybe he just didn't want to face the consequences of his actions.

He took a puff on his cigarette again. As he brought his hand up, he noticed it was shaking a little and his knuckles were bruised. Steele closed his eyes and tried to imagine it never happened. But he could see them all; the girl with her head blown open, her horrified frozen face, and the dozens of bodies in front of her, shot in the back. The wounds were so hot and the air so cold, steam rose from the opened, bleeding flesh. But it was swept away from the snowy winds.

Steele leaned forward and covered his eyes.

Word Count: 6,155

Comment Responses

TheShadeOps: That's sort of the establishing theme for the first few chapters. Give you a glimpse of the past, drawing parallels between it and the most recent events, and have our characters ruminate in it. As for finding her artwork, I made a primer on the Vox-Taps forum of how to get to her work. But you're essentially going to go to her profile on DA, find the tab that says 'Gallery,' then find a Gallery Folder called 'Fanarts Extravaganza.' All three pieces should be in and amongst the other fanarts she's made, although one of them, 'Unbalanced,' is locked by mature content so you'll need an account with the mature content turned on to see it.

Kabuto S. Inferno: Thanks for the tip! I thought the best way to start off the new story was to flesh out the myriad details sprinkled throughout the first story from several perspectives. It'll be the theme of these opening chapters, in the same way the last three chapters of I'm Alone had a theme regarding future, present, and past. But I'm glad you're looking forward to it.

MightBeGone: Oh, I haven't been too far away. Glad you're pumped for the new story, and yeah, it's a bit of a theme for now. It's good to see you, man.

longmoonedraptor: Thank you very much, I really appreciate that. I think with a more focused story, better editing, and a more focused setting/plot line, yes, it'll garner its fair share of attention. Granted, the first story ended up being way more popular than I ever imagined! But thanks for your support!