Chapter 12: Character of War
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Be-
Vivian could not hit the alarm clock fast enough. Turning it around, she checked the time: oh-four-thirty hours. Moaning, she rolled onto her back and gazed up at the ceiling tiles through half-open, groggy eyes. Her dirty blonde hair spilled onto the white pillow, nearly covering it. Pushing a few stray locks from her cheeks and blowing a few from her mouth, she took in a deep, labored breath. All her muscles ached from laying in the same position all night long. An uncomfortable crick was right in the center of her neck and her left right arm and leg were filled with pins and needles.
Sleep threatened to take her again. Every few moments, her eyelids threatened to shut and she could feel a weightless feeling beginning to take hold. Each time it was about to claim her, she snapped her eyes back open and took a few quick breaths.
Getting up seemed like an impossibility. Knowing what was ahead of her, she wondered if she could even muster the will to merely sit up. Last night was the first time in a while she slept all the way through. Most nights, she awoke from strange, dark, and twisted dreams. Terrifying and heartbreaking, they followed her day and night. Shadows in her heart, shadows in her mind; she walked with five, not one. When she rested her head on the pillow, there were five more with her, seen and unseen.
One, undisturbed night of rest seemed like a hidden treasure. Now, she finally obtained it and she felt awful. Sore and stiff from head to toe, the slightest movement made her joints crack and pop. Despite being in the best of health, she awoke with a stuffy nose and sticky feeling in her chest. Even after a full night's sleep, she did not feel rested at all. Just rolling onto her back sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Or perhaps that was from a lack of physical exercise, she thought to herself.
Grumbling, she ran her hands down her face and grudgingly sat up. The moment she did, she was struck by a massive headache. It was not the sort of pain that balled up in the forehead. Instead, it was like there was a vise around her head and was slowly, steadily squeezing it until it would pop. It was as if her scalp was tightening, tightening, and tightening on her skull. Gritting her teeth, she reached up and held the sides of her head, hoping her own touch would alleviate some of the ache. While it had no effect on the pain itself, it was comforting to have them there anyways.
Once the headache surge passed, save for a malignant, vague dull soreness in the back of her neck, she threw the blanket off and swung her bare legs out. The envelope of warmth granted by the blankets quickly dissipated in the cool air of her sleeping quarters. Pulling the straps of her standard issue olive-drab tank top back over her shoulders, she rubbed her arms and shivered a little.
Vivian bent her neck from side to side, resulting in a satisfying crick-crack. She cracked her knuckles and back, then stretched her arms and legs. Finally feeling limber, she sighed and stood up. First, she made her bed just like she used to do at Luna Academy. It was neat, with the folds meeting the correct lengths and the ends tucked in without creases. Then, she went out into her office, filled with the waning moonlight of the early morning. She began brewing some coffee and while the machine whirred and sputtered, she went to the bathroom. After splashing her face, she brushed her teeth. Usually, she did not brush her teeth before she drank her morning coffee and breakfast. But she was skipping the latter; she could only assume what Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing was going to put them and the Marine Raiders through. Even if she had a morsel of food in her stomach she would end up vomiting it up; Vivian hoped to avoid that.
For a moment, she was going to turn the shower on, but hesitated. A day of training would end up leaving her dirty, sweaty, and smell; it made no sense to shower beforehand. Although it felt uncomfortable to shower, Vivian reminded herself there were millions upon millions of citizens in war zones all over the Colonies without running water, electricity, or even a roof over their heads. As well, countless millions of soldiers were entrenched without the same amenities either. She could go one training day without her morning shower.
By the time she was out of the bathroom, her coffee was ready. Blowing on it for a few minutes, she took a long sip and sighed, contented. Going to her desk, she checked her data pad for any reports. Besides the usual logs left by the base security detachment commander, there were none.
Vivian went back to her quarters. Setting her coffee mug down on the nightstand, she opened her nearby bureau. She donned her PT gear, which consisted of a gray t-shirt bearing the UNSC logo and the word 'NAVY' in big, bold, black letters, and a pair of black PT shorts which barely touched her knees. She drank more coffee and checked her clock again. It was neary oh-five-hundred hours.
Taking a deep breath, she drank the last of her coffee, donned her training shoes which were military-style running shoes, and went to the door.
She went outside. Save for a few early rising officers, orderlies, clerks, adjutants, preparing for the busy morning rush, as well as the relief staff for the night shifts, were moving in the halls. It was rare to see the corridors and winding staircases of the command center to be so vacant. The long halls were so quiet, Vivian could hear the clack-clack-clack of fingers tapping on terminal keyboards, accompanied by the whir and buzz of copying machines, printers, and scanners.
After saluting a pair of passing subordinates, Vivian went to the elevator and rode it all the way to the bottom level. Rows of desks on either side of the main entrance were populated by the morning staff, who were busily readying their stations. As Vivian passed by, each one rose to their feet and saluted. She saluted nearly the entire way to the door.
Just then, the sliding doors opened and Jasmine walked in. They almost bumped into each other.
"Another early morning?" Vivian asked, smiling cordially. Jasmine shrugged, wrapping her arms around her data pad and holding it against her chest.
"It's an administrative day for me," she said cheerfully. Vivan was glad to see her smiling, although Jasmine's expression shifted to that of concern. "Hey, what are you doing up so early? I've told you, you need more sleep. It's not good for you. Less sleep makes your body less resilient; less resilience, and you're more prone to getting a virus or infection."
"I thought it was an administrative day," Vivian said cheekily, planting one hand on her hip, examining her nails on the other, and rolling her eyes. Jasmine huffed.
"Why are you even up?"
"I blocked my schedule for the next few days. I'm joining the Marines selected for Raider Training."
"It'd be easier to fight the Covenant, I think," Jasmine replied warily. "I caught a look at the instructors, they're a mean looking bunch."
"I've seen their dossiers; I'd like to say I know what I'm in for but I doubt that's the case this time, Jas."
Vivian shrugged, but then smiled confidently. "It'll be one hell of a challenge. I may not be ready, but I'll learn something along the way, won't I? No use sitting around getting fat."
"Right," Jasmine said assuringly.
For a moment, the two friends stood in front of each other maintaining a friendly gaze. Already, Vivian's morning stupor seemed to pass just with the sight of her. Jasmine's face was glowing radiantly, her smile was wide and beautiful, and her black hair, tinged with golden locks, cascaded down to her shoulders and onto her back. As morning sunlight began to pour through the windows, filling the cavernous lobby with brilliant, golden-white light, she seemed to be the most beautiful person in the galaxy. Beyond that, she appeared the happiest of them too.
Seeing her so content, even so early in the morning, Vivian's gladdened heart sunk into melancholy. At first, it was just a minor list, but soon it was like a ship slipping beneath the waves for its death plunge.
Vivian remembered Jasmine's expression when Vice Admiral Travers arrived to end the entire affair. She was sullen, accusatory, and above all, disappointed. Gone was the light that seemed to follow her; her deep, tan skin was so pale it was nearly ashen. No spark or twinkle danced her richly dark eyes. Bleak and miserable, she did her best to fight the anger that boiled in her stomach and crawled up her throat. Jasmine's will to resist it was unmatched; not even Frost's temperament could match it.
Jasmine must have noticed because her eyebrows rose and she became concerned again. "Viv?"
"I'm sorry about...Nate," she said, rubbing the back of her head. "I thought I was doing the right thing, thought it was all laid out in front of me, plain to see. It was just paranoia and bitterness. I thought I was past it but look at me, right back to square one. Pathetic, right?" Vivian shook her head. "He's a good man, no matter what's done in the past, no matter what he did back then. What matters right now is just that, right now. I don't have the time to satiate my grudge. And I'm starting to think I just don't have it in me anymore. I'm really tired, Jas. Just so tired of the nightmares, memories, and anger. I'm ready to move on. I have to do, or else the future will just be filled with cycles upon cycles of accusations and resolutions."
Jasmine stared at her silently for a few moments. She appeared surprised, but a soft, tender look began to permeate in her sparkling eyes. Looking down slightly, she smiled a little and tucked her data pad into the large pocket on the inside of her white lab coat. Then, she reached out and took Vivian's hands in her own.
"Viv, I appreciate what you're saying. I'm glad you're thinking of the future, as well as..." she giggled a little, "...as well as right now. You've come a long way. I'm not upset anymore. I understand it's not easy to let go. It's one of the most difficult things a human being can do, and most people simply can't." Jasmine squeezed her hands. "I know Nate hasn't always been the person I know now. You're right, the present matters most, but that does not erase the past. I know some of those stories people tell are true. It was a different time, a different kind of war than the one we're fighting, and he was barely an adult when they sent him into whatever kind of hell Skopje was."
Jasmine stared deeply into Vivian's eyes. "I think...I think you're both victims. I also think you've known that for some time, and that might be the reason for your lingering animosity."
"Because he's just so familiar," Vivian murmured. "Yes, I think you're right."
Jasmine squeezed her hands and smiled reassuringly.
"Try not to show him or the other Marines up out there, okay?"
"I think they'll be carrying me back on a stretcher after this, Jas. Be ready with some IV-fluids, I'm going to need some."
"Because I just happen to keep one in my back pocket," Jasmine said, rolling her eyes.
Their hands dropped as a cadre of staff officers and other morning shift personnel came through the door. Like a wave breaking against a lone rock, they flowed around both sides of the pair and walked on, unconcerned.
At that moment, Vivian wanted to stay and spend the day with Jasmine. Even if she was just loitering in her office while she worked, she would prefer that over the training regime that was waiting for her. She made a mental note that before Operation: EXALT kicked off, they would spend some time together, just two old friends.
From the expression on Jasmine's face, Vivian could tell she was thinking the same thing.
"Well, I suppose it's time for me to go," Vivian said with a shrug. Then she winked at Jasmine. "I'll try not to upstage your boyfriend."
"You're just jealous because you don't have one," Jasmine said, winking back and sticking her tongue out for good measure.
Passing by each other, Jasmine proceeded to the elevators while Vivian stepped into the brisk dawn. Traveling across base, maneuvering between convoys and work details, she made her way to the training yards. After passing through the large gate, she found the ranks of the Marine Raiders already assembled. The company of nearly one-hundred fifty men, plus over two dozen attached personnel from different service branches, stood in their PT gear in lines. She traveled down the front rank after a moment's hesitation and went all the way to the end. It was there she found herself standing beside Gunnery Sergeant Frost. Nobody was in front of the ranks of the newly formed Alpha Company, although everyone that morning was referring to as FMRC: First Marine Raider Company.
Although they were lined up, no order to stand attention was given yet. In front of them were a dozen instructors, each in crisp, digital camouflage fatigues. Their sleeves were rolled up and their scars ranging from deep cuts to plasma burns were visible. Each one had their arms folded across their broad chests. Their gazes were hard, piercing, and intimidating to Vivian, who faced the maw of some of the most dangerous Covenant ships in her short career.
Unable to resist, she looked towards her left. Frost was clad in similar PT gear, although in bold print on the front it read, 'MARINES.' He did not seem apprehensive nor eager; instead, there was a look of acceptance on his scarred face. Eventually, she caught her looking and his cold gray eyes met hers. A small, affable smile tugged at his lips. All Vivian could do was nod.
Beside him was Corporal Steele, who appeared groggy and had deep, gray bags under his eyes. A unlit cigarette dangled loosely from his slips. Frost elbowed him.
"Put that away or the instructors will have your ass."
"Let'em," Steele eventually moaned, rubbing his forehead, "at least that'd be more interesting than waking up at this hour."
"You say that now, but once you're eating the ranking instructor's boot heel, you'll be sorry," said one of the female instructors standing in front of them. She was wearing a soft cover non-commissioned officer's cap and pulled it low on her brow. All they could was her confident, toothy smile.
Steele rolled his eyes.
"That's my mark for tonight," he said to Steele.
"You're going to need to be in your BDU's if you're going to try anything with her, mate," Maddox sneered from down the line. Without looking his way, Steele raised his middle and index finger.
Suddenly, the instructors all snapped into a rigid posture, with their heads up straight, their heels together, and arms flat against their sides.
"Attention!" somebody hollered.
Like everyone else, Vivian adopted the instructors posture.
At first, nothing happened and no one moved. Cool, morning wind drifted lazily into the quarter of the base, ruffling the lush green grass in the center of the oval-shaped track. When it passed, the sound of booted footsteps on the track could be heard. Each step was slow, deliberate, and calculated. The sounds grew louder as they came nearer.
As badly as Vivian wanted to look, she maintained her gaze and stared straight ahead. Following the wind, the clouds parted and the clear, morning light began to spread across the entire base. She watched the grass sway again and the clouds part. The footsteps grew closer and louder. Then, they stopped.
A large, tall man came into view. He wore a sharp fatigues like the other instructors and a soft cover cap. His face was weathered and worn, though devoid of any battle scars. Dark eyes canned the entire company.
Vivian braced herself; she knew who it was. He cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back.
"At ease. My name is Master Gunnery Sergeant Angus Swing," he said in a calm but audible voice. "I'm in charge of whipping you all into fighting shape, to make line troops become elite troops. I know you've all seen action and have at the front for a very long time."
He closed his eyes and nodded for a few moments. When he opened them again, his brow furrowed and his lips flattened. "I bet you think you're hot-shit, don't you? Fancy fighters, real ground-pounders who know how to take the fight to the enemy. Some of you even reclaimed a planet."
Taking his hands from behind his back, he began to clap very slowly. He did this for a few minutes, then took a step up to Steele and plucked the cigarette from his lips. "Just in case you're blind, hard-of-hearing, or plain stupid, that was sarcastic clapping. I don't give a shit that you got a planet back or you've been out here for however many years it's been. You ain't shit compared to the Marines I served with back in 2525. You ain't got a hope of ever being like them, but if you listen to what I tell you, there's a chance you might."
He began walking up and down the line, gazing at them menacingly. "You lot are sloppy. You know how I can tell? Because you've got nicks and cuts all over your ugly mugs."
Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing stopped in front of Frost. He eyed him up and down, then narrowed his eyes at the horizontal scar across the Gunnery Sergeant's face. Grunting, Swing grabbed him by the cheeks. Vivian watched Frost's eyes pop as the drill instructor guided the Marine's face from up, down, and side to side, as if he was inspecting a prize horse.
"You've got one ugly mug, Jack the Ripper," Swing growled. "Do you know how you got that scar, son?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Frost said as the drill instructor let go of his cheeks.
"Tell me."
"Sir, I was struck by shrapnel from a grenade fired by a Brute Shot, sir!"
"Wrong," Swing said, glaring at him. "I know how you got that fucking ugly scar. Would you like to know?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Because you're stupid." Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing poked him very hard in the chest as he spoke. "You got wounded because you're stupid. You have scars all over yourself because you're stupid. Do you know why I have a pristine mug that ought to be on the skin lotion commercials, son?"
"Sir, no, sir!"
"Because I'm smart. Do you know what smart Marines do, son?"
"Sir, they don't get hit in the face by Brute grenade shrapnel, sir!"
"Correct!" Swing said, then pointed to the track. "Three laps equals one mile, son. Give me thirty laps laps, go, go, go!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Frost shouted and took off.
"And you don't stop until I tell you to stop!" Swing called after him.
Vivian heard snickering beside her. Looking to her left, Steele was stifling his own laughter. Marines around him looked at him warily and shook their heads. Even Vivian found herself trying to make a sound or a quick, clandestine motion of hand to tell him to stop. But it was futile; Swing whirled around and walked up to Steele. He held the cigarette he took back up, then held it close to his lips.
Steele nearly crossed his eyes looking at it, then looked at the Master Gunnery Sergeant.
"Sir?"
"Take it."
Steele slowly raised his hand but Swing smacked it down. "With your lips, you idiot." Apprehensively, Steele leaned forward and gingerly took the end of the cigarette with his lips. As soon as he stood back up, Swing slapped him across the face and the cigarette went flying onto the ground.
The sniper's head remained recoiled towards Vivian, his eyes wide and blinking. Eventually, he turned back around to face Swing and began rubbing his cheek.
"Ow..." he muttered.
"Ow, what?" Swing growled.
Steele glared at him.
"Ow, sir," he replied.
"Forty laps. Move your ass and get out of my fucking face."
Steele stepped by him and joined Frost just as the Gunnery Sergeant completed a circuit. Swing watched them for a few minutes, then looked over his shoulder at the rest of the company. Turning around slowly, he folded his hands behind his back again. He surveyed the ranks in front of him, then bounced his eyebrows in the air. "Does anyone have a good reason for why you're all standing there like a bunch of dumb fucking sheep? Get. Running."
At that moment, the instructors behind barreled toward the company. Screaming and swearing, they ordered all the Marines and associated personnel attached to the unit onto the track. As if running for their lives, they bolted onto the track and began running. Save for Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing, the instructors hounded them the entire way.
Just as Vivian began to move onto the track, Swing held his arm out in front of her. "Captain Waters?"
"Yes. It's good to meet you Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing."
"Master Guns, ma'am, you ain't got to be formal with me. You sure you want to go along with the Marines on this? They're training to be SF and this ain't gonna be pretty in the least."
"I'm sure. I have to."
Swing scoffed for a moment, then smiled.
"Have it your way, ma'am."
Vivian grinned confidently.
"Just treat me like you would any of the Marines."
"You sure about that? I'm not gonna wave you on and give you fucking milk and cookies like they did at OCS."
"Do your worst, Master Guns."
He chuckled, then narrowed his eyes and pointed at the track. No word nor any sound passed his lips, he merely pointed and grimaced intensely at her. Both eyes seemed to glow with a deep fire, making them almost red, and his jaw was set so firmly she could see the muscles tensing up.
###
So began day after day of some of the most grueling training Vivian ever experienced in her life.
At OCS, she partook in infantry and weapons drills beyond her Navy training. It was expected that every officer and soldier within the UNSC military be versed in the realm of ground combat. When push came to shove, the galaxy-spanning war always found its way planetside. Too often, the jettisoned survivors of a fallen UNSC starship landed on the surface of a planet and joined the local garrison in its combat efforts. Navy personnel were required to be prepared for that kind of warfare and officers more so. Vivian studied as hard as she could though devoted most of her studying towards her Naval expectations. While she could handle most firearms and basic explosives, and knew the bare minimum for small unit tactics, she felt totally unprepared for Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing's training regime.
The whole first week was spent on physical conditioning. Each day, they ran lap after lap on the tracks. Off the track, they donned full BDU's and conducted long-range ruck marches into the Port's hinterland. They trekked over the plains, struggled through ravines, gullies, and rivers, trudged up mountains ridges and down the other side. Wearing somewhere between eight to one hundred pounds of gear, Vivian was not just out of break, she was sucking for air. Each time Swing called a halt, she could hear the exasperated, relieved, labored sighs of every other Marine around her. At first, she was nervous the other Marines would find her weak and mock her behind her back as a wannabe. Seeing them toiling just as hard as she was after so many years of ground combat put her mind at ease. Along the way, if she tripped, one, two, or three of the Marines would be beside her in moments and would have her back on her feet. When one of them fell, she took their hands or by their armor's webbing and pulled them back up too. Often, they were so fatigued on the march, someone would stop and crouch, balancing the elbow of their non-dominant arm on their knee as they held their weapon. It was the only way to relieve the terrible drag of their backpacks. Each time Vivian did so, several Marines would pass by, but eventually one would tap her back, shoulders, or helmet and sat, 'C'mon skipper, we've got to go,' or, 'keep it up, skip', we're almost there.'She found strength in their own resolve and the few words they offered.
Sometimes they spent all day and all night out in the hinterland. Occasionally, Frost would be nearby with some of his own squad members. They would exchange a few words, usually remarking on Swing's hardiness and cruelty, or the difficulty of the terrain. Once in a while, usually during a halt, Frost would tell her an old war story. Leaning against her rucksack or balancing on her knee, she listened to the tales he and other Marines spun. Most of their stories were rife with humor or some kind of wholesome ending. Usually, their bad times became good, or they encountered the outright oddities of war. Frost recalled one insistence on being on an undeveloped colony world, barely off its own feet after its agricultural introduction. He expected many of the farm animals in the pastures to flee from the gunfire. Although disturbed by the gunfire, he found it particular the cows continued to graze not too far from their position along a wooden fence as they engaged Covenant scouts. He also remarked it was one of the strangest evacuations during his entire career. The Covenant were so lackadaisical in their invasion they had time to evacuate the farm animals; waving his arms and raising his voice, he and other Marines experienced with such animals herded them up ramps into civilian starships. During the journey to a safer sector, some of the civilians joked about eating a few of the cows. But the Marines, having shared a battlefield with the beeves, did not have the heart to shoot them, no matter how hungry they were.
Stories like those added a strange mysticism to the war, which started to seem like a dream. Months passed since Vivian's ships engaged a Covenant fleet. It was still happening all over the Colonies; the Covenant were pushing deeper into human controlled space, and the UNSC was falling back in most sectors and pushing ahead in a few limited scenarios. War of this scale was never seen before, not even during the war with the Insurrectionists. It was a new kind of war with the same characteristics of every conflict that preceded it, just on a far more vast of a scale. Just like in those periods of strife, there were still stories to tell, jokes to be laughed at, and things to fill one's chest with wonder. War seemed so far away and utterly elusive. She wondered if they were to stay if it would simply pass them by. Had the war forgotten them? Had its character changed? Or perhaps, had they forgotten the war? But there was little time to think; the moment her mind truly began to run, Swing ordered them back on their feet and deeper into the hinterland.
At first, she was so exhausted and focused on making it through the ruck-marches to avoid Swing's wrath, she paid almost no attention to the environment. But as the days folded into weeks, and her body grew stronger, she could finally take stock. Prowling through the deep woods or sitting on the heavily vegetated ridges, she began to fall in love with the Port. It was more than just a strategic base or an objective to hold. It was green and beautiful; in the mornings, she watched the fog sit in the distant forests or roll down the hills. There were birds whose squawks and calls carried throughout the trees. When it rained, she did not mind. It was majestic to see the rainwater running down tree bark, streaming off of leaves, and to hear it pattering on the treetops. The Marines clustered together, letting the rain fall on their helmets and acting quite unconcerned with being cold and wet. When it rained, they often sang; Frost liked to sing a few verses with his buddies from flip music, while others beatboxed to more modern tunes.
The longer Vivian trained with them, the harder it got, but she began relishing the challenge. She was watching the others change around her as well; everyone was becoming more capable as the weeks stretched on. People began to grow stronger, bigger, and healthier. Weapon drills began to break up their field training. Vivian found herself handling some of the most advanced versions of basic firearms she had never seen before. Obstacle courses with painted and marked plywood denoted weapon mounts, positions to take cover behind, to rush, assault, frag, and shoot. The entire time, Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing and the other instructors were running with her, telling her over and over again what targets to pass, which to shoot, where to mount her rifle, which way to lean in and out of cover. She practiced weapon handling, maneuvering everything from M7 submachine guns to MA5C assault rifles in ways she never thought of. She held weapons sideways, close to her chest, and rapidly switched between her primary weapon and her sidearm in close quarters. Above all, she enjoyed breaching drills. When the charge detonated, blasting the door off its hinges, they were told to ride the explosion into the target room. Vivian always wanted to be the first one. Each room they assaulted via breach, she found herself getting faster, more accurate, and less afraid.
Watching the line Marines in action was always a spectacle. They brought their experience into the training; seeing their improvised field techniques flourish in the Raider course was inspiring. Everything they did was aggressive, but it was complemented by precision. Bodies flowed around corners like water and their reflexes were unmatched. Vivian did her best to be competitive, as they were all in a race to be the fastest runner and the most precise sharpshooter.
One day after an extended period of weapons drills, the Marine Raiders were assembled in the training yard. Swing and his instructors were in front of them.
"Today, we'll be practicing CQC drills."
On his belt was a black scabbard with a black handled fighting knife. He pulled out and held it out in front of him. "The Ka-Bar fighting-utility knife, standard issue in the Corps. Most of you should be familiar with this blade."
Holding it back some, he surveyed them again. "Alright, one of you get up here and try to stab me."
Nobody stood up. Swing's plain face furrowed into a grimace. "I gave you an order, Raiders. One of you will stand up and try to stab me."
Vivian looked around. None of the Marines sitting around her stood up. Unimpressed, Swing scoffed and shook his head. "Alright then. Two of you stand up and try to stab me."
Just then, she saw someone stand up. It was Frost. He dropped his gear, save for his knife which he pulled with deliberation from the sheath. Stepping from the crowd, he stood in front Swing for a few moments. His arms were by his side, the blade clutched tightly in his grap. Oddly, his head was forward, as if he was a dog about to snarl at a foe.
Swing just stared at him. The other instructors backed off. All the other Marines remained seated.
Vivian pulled off her webbing, stood up, and took her own Ka-Bar from its scabbard. Swing and Frost both looked at her and she walked up to them.
"I'm ready, Master Guns," she told him.
"Two on one," Swing said, "bet you think this ain't an even fight."
"It isn't, sir," Frost grunted.
"You're right," Swing said with a confident smile, "a few more of you should have stood up."
Frost lunged first, swiping horizontally as he did. Swing took one step back, deflected the blade with his own, then punched Frost in the face with his palm. Stuanned, the Gunnery Sergeant stumbled back. Vivian went next, keeping her knife underhand and staying low. She wanted to stay underneath his arms, forcing him to bend over and stab down to attack, while she could jab upwards. When she got close, she tried to jab but instead he caught her wrist with his other hand. The next thing Vivian saw was his knee. It hit her in the face hard and she fell onto her back. Opening her eyes, she saw him standing over her. Frost came into view, trying to grapple him. Instead, Swing broke the hold Frost had around his trunk by forcing both elbows back into him. Then, he ducked down, stuck his leg out, and spun around. With a yelp, Frost was swept off his feet.
Vivian scrambled up as fast as she could; she was dizzy from the blow to her head. Knowing that if she got her knife under his throat that he would end the exercise in their favor, she tried to quickly slide her arms under his and bring her knife around before he got back up. But she was thrown off guard before she could position the knife; he immediately stood up, taking her off her feet, jumped off the ground and landed on her back. Vivian gasped as all the air went out of her lungs.
Swing did not waste time with her. Frost was coming for him again, staying low and keeping his knife out in front of him. As she recovered her breath, she watched as Swing and Frost crossed knives. The former appeared calm and determined, while Frost's eyes were wide and his teeth were clenched and bared. Their arms shot out, crossed, withdrew, and darted back out. Sometimes they turned their knives over and they began to grapple or exchange hand-to-hand blows in an effort to gain the upperhand. Frost was fast, his fighting skills sharp, and his pose experienced, but Swing held the initiative and did not let it go. He parried and blocked, used his fist to hit Frost in the gut or the side. As many times as the Gunnery Sergeant dodged and blocked a blow, there were two more he could not manage.
Finally regaining her breath, Vivian got back up. Just as she did, she watched as Frost finally gained the upper hand and knocked the knife from Swing's grasp. Crying out, he placed his hand on the pommel of his Ka-Bar and lunged. But Swing grabbed his hand and stopped Frost dead in his tracks.
"Now, skipper!" Frost yelled at her. Vivian lunged towards Swing. Despite holding Frost, the Master Gunnery Sergeant sidestepped, taking Frost with him. He caught Vivian's arm under his own, wrenched it up, and squeezed. Blood circulation to her hand was immediately cut off. Vivian felt her hand open instinctively and the knife fell on the grass. Gritting her teeth, she tried to free her arm but it was no use. It was like being trapped in a vise. Using her free arm, she reached around and awkwardly pawed at Swing's face. Finally latching on, she pulled back as hard she could. Then, she watched as he began to step forward, putting more weight on Frost's grip with only one hand. To her amazement, Frost began to kneel as he tried to hold Swing back. As Swing leaned forward, Vivian could no longer hold his face. Her left arm was now too far from him to try and hit him. The more he keeled forward, the more pressure he put on her arm.
Vivian held her trapped right arm and tried to pull it free. Then, his arm released and she fell back. Stumbling onto her back, she tried to catch herself and get back up. Instead, Frost was thrown into her and the pair fell onto the grass in front of the other Marines.
Panting heavily, they both sat up, half on each other. Looking up, Vivian saw Swing standing over them. He doffed his cap and ran a hand over his bald head. "I expected as much from you, Jack the Ripper. You've got skill, but you're too wild. When you're in a fight like that, your goal is to kill the enemy. Not tear them apart; that takes too much time, you young fool."
His gaze shifted to Vivian. "I like your spirit, Captain. You'll make a fine student."
He bent over, picked up their Ka-Bar knives, and handed them back. Frost and Vivian slid them back into their belt-mounted scabbards. They helped each other up and then stood at attention.
Swing nodded approvingly. "Raiders, when I'm done with you, the Covenant will find the war has changed. You looking forward to seeing the surprise on their ugly mugs next time they try to overrun your position?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" everyone hollered.
"That's what I like to hear! Now, pick a partner and draw your Ka-Bar knives; we'll be doing this all day!
Word Count: 6,315
Author's Note: I've been looking forward to this chapter a lot. Swing is a nice fresh character to add in and kick the heck out of the characters that I've worked with for so long. That said, it took way too long; I've been working on this since Wednesday. For some reason, it was hard to stay motivated and focused on it. I love this story and these characters, but I suppose my current passion is Marsh Silas, I get really energized when I write for that. Here, it's more of reaching a quota. Maybe the farther I get, the more motivated I'll get. Next week, I'll try to pinch it off early. I'm a tad tired so my comment responses are going to be brief.
Comment Responses:
MightBeGone: Creativity comes and goes, yes indeed. I actually recently made a list of things I do to start and keep writing, so it helps to refer to it. I suppose, in the end, Marsh Silas is just fresher for me and easier to work with. I'm Alone has been worked on for...what, four years now? Just about? It's a long-term project and I'm sort of feeling the burn. Perhaps it would have been better to wait a couple more months. Writing this chapter took longer because of my lack of motivation and difficulty to focus; I could have forced it, but forcing it is not a good idea. You'll hate your work eventually, and I don't want that feeling to happen again. Ah, I sound quite dour; I appreciate your comment, thanks for reading. (Probably gonna be errors in this one; I'm fuck-ass tired.)
Ctrl-Dalt-Delete: Way back when, I originally wanted the core cast members like Frost and Vivian to be older and a little more morally ambiguous. But I worried that didn't it wouldn't quite catch readers' attention so I de-aged them a bit and made their characters more clear-cut. Now, I'm having a good time expanding on Frost's highly questionable morality and it's been very gratifying to show that a lot of the stuff he said and believed in the first story was pretty much a lie he told himself to ease his conscience. That'll be a running theme, obviously.
Yep, you're absolutely right about that. The UNSC wasn't afraid to pull some bullshittery despite the fight for survival being waged. That'll come up a bit too, as it already has. Thanks for reading, my man.
Skyler: Thanks a lot for that, it really bolsters my confidence knowing you're enjoying the story and that you've noted improvement. Sometimes, creators are so wrapped up in their work that they just feel like they're stagnating and churning out the same tosh, but feedback like that really lets me know my work is paying off. I really appreciate you taking the time to check the story out, come back to it, and that you can sink your teeth into it. Thanks.