Chapter 13: Start
As the 89th Marine Expeditionary Unit continued re-train and the other combat elements began to revitalize themselves from months of planetside service, the Port grew even busier. It was difficult to imagine it could. Already, supply convoys were bringing in the harvests from the fields in preparation for the task force's food stores and huge trucks continued to bring valuable titanium from the mountains to be processed. Day and night, the titanium plants, drydocks, shipyards, and motor pools were active. Around the clock, crews worked in the plants, rotating shifts of six hours to ensure material output was a constant flow. Production facilities were producing everything from the M274 Mongoose to the M808 Scorpion main battle tank. Army and Marine units continued joint-exercises, and the massive elements crossed the plains outside of the main facility. Falcons and Hornets continued practice runs on distant prairies, strafing targets and providing cover for mock airborne assaults.
What vehicles, aircraft, supplies, equipment, and other assets unused for training missions were being stockpiled. Cargo containers from transport ships coming from Great Bear landed continually. A great hoard of containers were piled up in the supply depots. Soon, there was not enough room for it all. Airfields were lined with stacks of green, blue, and red shipping containers. Motor pools bulged with ranks of heavy and light vehicles, and soon the airfields were lined with VTOLs and orbital craft parked wing to wing. Armories were packed to capacity with weapons, ammunition, body armor, explosives, and everything else a Marine could carry on his person. Space was becoming so limited, the armory staff members were begging the command staff not to increase their stock.
Temporary schools were established for personnel receiving promotions or re-training. Personnel who received battlefield commissions were now undergoing the proper education, albeit on a fast-track, to obtain a degree necessary to their new grade. Most of the planners were well aware most would not have the opportunity to complete their education before jump-off, but not starting career paths would be counter-productive. Experienced, local officers took the newly promoted personnel, who longed served as non-commissioned officers, on tours of their units, educated them on organization, logistics, small unit tactics, command authority, advanced navigation, cooperation with other units, and how to conduct oneself as a commissioned officer. Marines and other enlisted personnel began cross-training in different schools; communication, marksmanship, diving, parachuting, free-fall parachuting, airborne training, vehicle licensing, heavy weapons, and engineering. Already experienced soldiers were steadily becoming more diverse in their skill-sets and applicable training.
The firing range was lined with rows and rows of personnel seeking to increase their weapon proficiency. Even those assigned to non-combat roles were found lining the entryway to the range to get some shooting time in. Heavy weapons teams, operating mortars and heavy machine guns, were on their own separate ranges shooting at dummy targets and old, burned hulks. Faraway from the base, across the plains, Scorpion tanks went to gunnery school and shot at distant, remote-controlled targets. Warthog convoys split into wide, massive groups, appearing as armada of fast attack vehicles, practicing hit-and-run raids against mock-up Covenant bases, destroying supplies, defenses, and vehicles before the 'enemy' could react. M4000 Kodiak self-propelled artillery platforms formed batteries and bombarded targets in support of infantry operations.
Inside the command center, it was like the interior of an ant colony. All of the associated logistical personnel and administrative staffers were packing the building. Conference rooms were occupied by so many officers, ranging from those with stars on their collar to those with a single golden bar, there was hardly any more standing room. Presentations hosted on large screens briefed officers on Operation: EXALT's objective planets, operational plans, rally points, forward bases, and educational methods in case the offensive failed. Offices buzzed with readouts of each target planet's characteristics; gravity, biospheres, seasons, rotations, atmospheric pressure, potential weather hazards ranging from hurricanes to tsunamis, and system qualities such as the number of moons or asteroid belts. Image after image was blown up on a screen or passed around in page-sized images for every officer to see. Every individual with an officer was answering messages on their data pads and on their military-use mobile device, organizing the distribution of supplies, allocating resources for different branches, and ordering related units to conduct exercises.
In the largest conference hall, the 1st CBG's core officer staff assembled to go over their own plans. Major Holst, unenthused about sitting in planning rooms, and Captain De Vos, diligent and contributing, represented the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Colonel Hayes, accompanied by his new executive officer as Major Royce was effectively in charge of the new Alpha Company, Lieutenant Colonel Cokes, brought their infantry plans and status updates for the 89th MEU. Cokes was one of the few men who did not grow up in the Earthen Youth Programs; like many of the command staff officers, he saw action in the early days of the war and was fighting ever since. He was a tall, sinewy man from a place called Newport in Wales. Despite appearing as a stocky poster-image for the UNSC Marine Corps, he was found to be a highly intelligent individual with an advanced education in engineering and technology. Also present was Major General Amsterdam, in command of Army elements and the Port's security. Amsterdam overcame her shock regarding the botched reconnaissance operation regarding the smugglers; her normal motivated, boisterous, energetic attitude returned. She was running her soldiers through extensive, exhausting training, in an effort to, 'make fighting the Covenant feel like a vacation by comparison,' in her own words. Unlike many offensives in the past few years of the war, the Army was going to play an active component rather than a stationary force waiting to be moved to the front line. Joint Marine-Army training was seeing the latter component engage in combat tactics outside of its usual doctrines. Marines, acting as shock troops, would perform initial landing operations while airborne-trained Army units assisted by large scale heavy infantry with armor support would follow in their wake. Utilizing both ground branches of the UNSC military would see pressure alleviated from one or the other, freeing units to engage on wider fronts rather than concentrated areas.
Finally, there were the Navy captains; Kelly, Slater, Alastair, and Kolchak. Rundstrum was physically absent, as he took River Styx into enemy territory to begin reconnoitering the target planets for the main task force as well as the supporting and diversionary raids the I'm Alone and her task force would be conducting. However, he made time to establish a live video feed and was able to deliver his intelligence reports in real-time.
Present at all these meetings was also Lieutenant Commander Jasmine Ebrahimi. As the leading Navy surgeon, she enhanced the plans with projected casualty figures, organizing joint-field medical centers that could be quickly established after making planetfall. Examining the different planetary environments, consisting of sprawling deserts, dense jungles, arctic plains, she informed them of the potential illnesses and hazards an infantryman could encounter. Heatstroke and dehydration, malaria, beriberi, and trench foot, and hypothermia and frostbite, respectively. She provided reports on medicinal stores and what could be divided between each of the combat support hospitals. Based on the enemy presence and the types of attacks the assault forces would be making, she also recommended the number of aircraft that would have to be reserved for CASEVAC details.
Vivian did her best to come to meetings. Often, she would just be coming from the field during a break in their training sessions with Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing. Most of her fellow Navy officers would laugh at her, dressed in full Marine BDU's with dirt and sweat clinging to her face. Breathlessly, she contributed her own ideas and objectives for their raids. She wanted them to be surgical; fast, high-damage, and low-risk. Hayes assured her with their advanced training Alpha Company would be able to perform such feats. De Vos and Holst agreed and recommended joint-action with the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Vivian asked the two forces to begin joint-training and show her the results. She also submitted her own fleet formations, ensuring the Navy component of the task force would be able to conduct fast, sharp raids in conjunction with the Marine Raiders and ODSTs.
It was impossible to imagine it could become any busier than it already was. But when the fleet arrived carrying the assault forces for Operation: EXALT, it became like a megacity. After weeks of cryogenic slumber, Marines and Navy personnel were itching for a chance to come planetside. They filled the empty barracks rooms like water filling a glass, and soon temporary camps were erected in any place they could find free space. So many troops gathered on the planet, the camps had to be placed outside the compound walls. Mess halls were so crowded personnel had to eat outside, sitting on the compound pavement. Atmosphere-rated ships parked in dyrocks while others docked at the shipyard being constructed in orbit.
Each morning when Vivian left her quarters for Raider training, she could not help but smile mystically at the military might the UNSC brought to the Port. Seeing so many bodies, vehicles, and ships filled her heart with pride and a feeling of resolve. Whether she was briefing her officers, conferring with task force commanders, touring the base, or training with the Raiders, her spirit was becoming more resolute. It felt as though she, and the rest of the men and women she would be fighting with, could do anything. Crush any Covenant foe, reclaim planets, strike deep into enemy territory, and regain the initiative of the war. Her heart would soar every time she saw a formation of Falcons or Shortswords fly overhead.
For the first time in many years, she was beginning to sleep easier. Perhaps, life was beginning to synthesize and progress, or maybe she was just worn out from Swing's training.
Back on the training grounds, she and Frost crossed Ka-Bar blades once again. Darting, recoiling, slashing, stabbing, grappling, they fought tooth and nail. As hard Vivian fought, he always came out the victor.
Thrown on the ground, hard, she tried to get back up. But the moment she opened her eyes and sat up, Frost's knife hovered just in front of her neck. For a moment, he stared into her shining, emerald green eyes, then grinned.
"Gotcha."
Vivian smirked back.
"One day I'll wipe that smug look off your face," she remarked.
Frost stood up, sheathed his blade, and extended his hand. Vivian took it and he heaved her up with ease.
"You're getting better," he said. "I can tell. You're quicker, you're thinking faster on your feet, you're getting more unpredictable."
"Is that the key to close-quarters-combat?"
"It's certainly an element, maybe not the most important one," Frost said, grabbing the straps of his vest and swinging back and forth on his heels. "Covvies aren't like us. Humans study each other, figure out what tactics and tech works best against who. The split-jaws just rely on their own skill and raw strength to fight, without the context of their opponent."
Vivian considered this for a moment, sliding her knife back into its scabbard and readjusting her M52B body armor. Then, she nodded her head to the side.
"It's almost like their ships' glassing beams. Why bother fighting a protracted battle when you can just vaporize a whole world."
For a moment, Frost quirked an eyebrow in confusion. Then, he nodded his own to the side and smiled.
"Yeah. They just brute-force their way through everything, because they think we're inferior to them." He detached the scabbard from his shoulder pauldron and tossed it end over end a few times. "I've eighty-sixed enough Elites to know they're not invincible. They're not afraid to get close, but they get confused when you try to close the gap. Fuckers are used to people running way from them, not towards them."
Frost tossed the scabbard high into the air, caught when it came back down, and clipped it back to the shoulder mount. With an amiable smile, he pointed at Vivian. "Kind of like you."
At that point, Vivian had crouched down and was adjusting the webbing she laced across her combat trousers. After fastening the tactical soft cases she wore on each thigh, she looked back at him.
"You mean I run towards them?"
"You're one of the first Navy officers I've known in a while who wants to engage the enemy, rather than idle around in at-risk sectors waiting for them to show up. Don't they say the best defense is a good offense?" Frost took the canteen from his belt, unscrewed the cap, and took a quick slug. He handed it down to Vivian, who readily accepted it and took a slug. When she handed it back, his hand lingered on the canteen, his fingers on her's. He was still smiling. "I'd rather fight with someone who wants to get at the enemy, rather than sit around on their ass. Guess I'm lucky they slotted us with you."
As stupefying as he sounded, Vivian felt her lips tug into a smile. Sometimes, she thought about that. A whole galaxy of systems and planets, billions of people serving together to stave off the Covenant, and somehow in the chaos and carnage of war, they ended up in the same place. The man she saw wanted to find, the man she once wanted to kill, the man who seemed to have taken everything from her, and here he was, with her, fighting side-by-side with her. An enemy had become a comrade soldier. She wondered if there was a God, or destiny, or some kind of plan for her and every other person out there. Such thoughts never lasted too long; she had seen war and it was enough to extinguish any concept of a benevolent being controlling life's events. Coincidence seemed too loose of a word to define it all, but what else was there? Luck, he said. She never placed much faith in luck itself, but she found it far more agreeable than a divine plan or mere coincidence. But she wondered what was more astounding, however; their meeting, or that they cooperated with one another rather than try to tear the other's throat out?
Looking at that charming, affable smile, fringed with a latent sadness, she decided that was just the kind of person he was. An individual who was able to move on from the past, someone who, while not immune to forming grudges, could eventually overcome them. By comparison, she let her grudge fester and ferment, burning in a cauldron for half a decade, waiting to burst. What damage had she done but to herself? Anger could give a person a certain drive they lacked before, but it consumed so, so much energy. Vivian did not realize how tired she was these past years. There was no peace, no closure, but she was able to let go. For the first time in many, many years, she felt like she had strength to spare.
Vivian let her hand drop from the canteen as she stood up. Frost clipped it to his belt again. He looked off to the sidelines of the training field and chuckled a little. Following his gaze, Vivian chuckled. Standing off with a crowd of observes, containing Army, Navy, and Marine enlisted men and officers, was Jasmine. She was not wearing her white lab coat, simple her black trousers and olive drab Navy-issue turtleneck sweater.
After waving at the pair, she walked over. As she did, Vivian looked at Frost. His gray eyes twinkled as he watched the doctor approach.
"Hey Viv, Nate," she said, turning to each of them. For a moment, the pair leaned in, but instantly stepped back. Blushing, he nervously looked at the other Marines and personnel all around them. Many of the Raiders were still practicing melee combat; some dueled with knives, others bayonet training, and others still performed various martial arts.
After clearing her throat, she nodded towards Vivian. "Try not to kill the captain, would you? It would be a real shame to kick off this new offensive and not have her around."
"I'm inclined to agree with you," Frost chuckled, looking at Vivian, "she's not as bad as you said she is."
Jasmine's eyes popped and her jaw opened. She hit him on the shoulder and laughed.
"I never said anything like that, Nate Frost."
"She tells me a lot of things," Frost said to Vivian. Jasmine stepped in front of the Marine, putting a hand on his mouth.
"Don't listen to him, Viv, he's just being an ass."
Swing was out of sight, knocking four Marines around as they tried to beat him in a wrestling match, so the trio chatted for a little while. They talked about the weather, the build-up, the push, the activity all over base, and the training. It was friendly and light-hearted; in the midst of the conversation Vivian imagined they might have been talking casually in a restaurant or a park if they were civilians. She was unsure what civilians talked about anymore beyond the war; school, spouses, children, employment, the prices at the grocery store, the price for fuel at the station, planning mixers to spend time with people they did not even like. She was far more comfortable speaking about training that involved bare blades and boxing, or the high-powered weapons a heavy starship could fire in combat.
The conversation would have continued, but Moser and Grant arrived. The former leaned toward Frost and whispered something in his ear. In an instant, the Gunnery Sergeant's smile disappeared.
"I'll be back in a few," he said. He leaned down and kissed Jasmine on the cheek, either uncaring or too unaware of the people around him to care. Either way, Jasmine blushed vividly and hid a bashful smile while he walked away.
Vivian watched him go, looked at her friend, and laughed.
"I hope I'm the maid of honor."
"Shut up," Jasmine said, waving her hand. "So, are you going to turn in your tunic for a set of BDU's?"
"We both know that'll never happen," Vivian said. The two began walking away from the mass of Marines training all around them. "Are you on a break?"
"I came to tell you we have more than enough biofoam and other associated medical supplies for both our mission and the main task unit for the op. The problem is storage; if we're overloaded here on the ground, then we'll definitely be overloaded when we make the jump."
"I've been thinking about that too. I was planning to requisition a few heavy-tonnage transport ships from Great Bear, but I'm starting to think that may not be a good idea. This isn't like the wars of several centuries ago; we can't just have our transport ships sitting with the main fleet. The main task force won't have enough. They're frigates will be in-atmosphere providing fire support, the heavier ships will be providing system security in case other Covenant ships arrive. Tasking even one ship to the transports will decrease combat efficiency."
"Viv, there are a lot of ships up there. Maybe we convince Rear Admiral Travers to get a few extra ships, maybe some frigates, for security."
"I'll give it a shot. We need to bring as much as the supplies possible. At least, after taking the first planet we can establish a large supply depot there rather than relying on the Port as a main supplier."
"Right." Jasmine smiled then, clasping her hands in front of herself. Then, she took a few steps ahead of Vivian, turned, and walked backwards so she could face her. Vivian smiled quizzically at her.
"You're in a good mood."
"I am."
"Care to tell me why?"
"Because you are," Jasmine giggled. "It's nice to see you happy. Some people like to go out, hit the bars, stuff their faces, go back to their apartment, drink a bit more, and talk utter nonsense until they pass out. That's what they describe as 'happy.' Viv Waters finds a bit of happiness training with leathernecks and planning to blow up the bad guys with big guns."
Jasmine turned back around and fell in step with Vivian. Reaching the sidelines, they went to some quartermasters who were passing out water bottles to the trainees. The cold, rainy weather which characterized the Port's past season gave way to a lull: a brief warm, sunny day. One could have mistaken it for Spring.
Vivian took a long drink and sighed.
"This beats sitting around at home trying to go to college and painting my nails every damn night," she said.
"Tell me about," Jas added.
The two went over to a grassy spot near the track and sat down cross-legged side by side. They were adjacent to some of the Navy personnel who came to observe the Raider training while off-duty. Nobody seemed to notice their commanding officer dressed in the Marine BDU's sitting less than five yards away.
Eyeing them as she drank, Vivian noticed the unimpressed looks on their faces. Many had their hands in their pockets or their arms folded across their chests. When they watched a Marine manhandle another into submission, they would lean towards each other and speak in hushed tones. Occasionally, one would scoff or snort disdainfully. Some shook their heads.
She looked back at the Marines. The men who were not busy trying to throw or grapple their counterparts were on breaks, drinking water or catching their breath. Although they did stare, she could see the searching, apprehensive glances they threw at the Navy personnel.
Jasmine must have noticed her watching as she leaned forward a little. "I've talked with some of the Navy officers; they're not as hard on the Marines as they have been the past few months. A lot of my medical staff have put the brakes on too."
Vivian huffed.
"They've patched those Marines up, you know they love them."
Jasmine smiled a little and pushed her glasses back up her nose.
"They sure do," she shrugged, "at least they're not brawling in the compounds or slinging insults in the mess halls."
"It's a truce, not peace," Vivian sighed, "I need to show them the Marines aren't psychopaths."
"Did you think getting punched in the face by them would do the trick?" Jasmine asked flatly.
"You know, I sort of did."
Vivian rose to her feet with some difficulty due to the weight of her armor. She marched over to a group of Marines who were resting. One of them, PFC Austin, with a young, handsome face and sparkling hazel eyes, was just getting up. "Austin," she hailed. He saluted and she saluted back. "Want to spar?"
"You sure, skipper?" he asked with a confident smile. He adopted a boxing pose and threw a few punches into the air. "No offense, I think I'm a little better than you."
"And I'm better than I was yesterday," Vivian said. "What'll it be?"
"How bout' a free-for-all, skip?"
"Sounds good," Vivian grinned menacingly, then took off her helmet and threw it into his chest. As he recoiled, she darted forward, grabbed his arm, and wrenched him forward. Austin turned around after taking a few steps, snatched her arm, and pulled her close. He lifted her off her feet, then dove forward. Vivian landed hard on her back, the rear of the body armor saving her from harm. The Marine was trying to use his weight to his advantage, trying to loop one arm under one of her's and the other under a leg to pin her. To do so he needed to be higher, thus sacrificing some of his weight. As well, Vivian knew he needed one arm to prop himself while he tried to lock one of her limbs. When he did, Vivian shoved his arm hard, right in the soft underbelly of his elbow. Losing his balance, he fell over Vivian diagonally. Snatching the straps of his bandoleer, she kicked one leg up and pushed him to the side at the same time.
Rolling him onto his back, she straddled him and took her knife, still in the scabbard. When she tried to bring the sheathed blade toward his neck, he caught her wrist with both hands. Instead of putting her free hand on the pommel for extra weight, Vivian reached for his scabbard, yanked it from its armor mount, and pressed it against his neck. Austin's eyes popped with surprise, then he smiled.
"Got me."
"That was good," Vivian said as she dropped his scabbard, got off him, and stood up. She looked over at the gathered Navy personnel. All were smiled confidently and proudly, impressed and smug their commander, a swabbie in the Marine's eyes, was able to take one of the veterans down. They nodded and snickered, casting their self-satisfied glances towards the Marines who were near Vivian and Austin. Those Marines appeared somewhat embarrassed despite Austin's good attitude, and avoided the Navy's eyes.
But Vivian attached her scabbard back to her armor mount, leaned down, and extended her hand. For a moment, Austin eyed it, then he grinned wider than ever and took it. Once he was on his feet, he and Vivian shook hands then saluted. "Well done," she said to him.
"Trust me ma'am, I'm much better against the Covvies."
"I don't doubt that for a moment, Marine," Vivian said, patting him reassuringly on his shoulder. "I'm proud of how hard you and the other Marines are training."
"Thank you, ma'am," the young Marine said.
Looking back at her Navy personnel, Vivian could see their confused, startled expressions as they looked at her. Some of them looked a little embarrassed themselves and tried not to look at the Marines. Others calmed down and wore more even expressions. It was a slow start, but a start nonetheless, Vivian thought to herself.
Before she could continue, she heard some commotion on the other side of the field. Marines and Navy personnel began to peel away, hurrying in that direction. Soon, she was right behind them. While others began to jog, she just walked. In an instant, she had gone from trainee to commander. Adopting an authoritative tone, she would not bustle like one of the enlisted men; a commanding officer needed to appear calm, cool, and collected.
When she neared, she heard shouting. Some were anti-Navy jabs, while others were anti-Marine insults. Curses and cries of encouragement rose and fell in between the jeering. Pushing between the Marines and seamen, she reached the edge of the crowd. In the center were Steele and Carris.
Carris was on the periphery of the training Marines. She was not dressed in her armor, instead wearing normal fatigues and a standardized vest unit with webbing to carry the gear necessary for training. Wearing her armor would not give any of the Marines a chance in any of the hand-to-hand combat drills they were practicing.
She was growing used to the long periods outside of her armor. A few years earlier, it would have been an impossibility to stay out of it for more than a day or two. A Spartan always needed to be ready to act in case of a Covenant ambush or a new operation handed down the chain from NAVSPECWAR.
After readjusting some of the webbing on her vest, she looked up. Master Gunnery Sergeant Swing was showing a few of the Raiders some advanced drills. She smiled a little; she liked Swing. He was from an older breed of Marines she used to fight with during the early years of the war. Although she truly admired those who did not wear the mantle of Spartan, for they possessed no physical advancements beyond a few booster shots, there was a place in heart reserved for Swing's generation. Most of them were gone now, wiped out in the first few offensives of war. They fought with a particular intensity and courage, overcoming their own shock of fighting a genocidal alien state. Those who remained were leaders who were passing down their knowledge to the younger generations, who sorely needed as much information as possible. Marines like the 89th MEU were motivated types, crack line troops who were eager for action. They were not representative of the majority of UNSC personnel, however. Most were draftees, conscripted the moment they came of age. Others were prisoners, offered their freedom if they served, those who were mustered out from earlier war periods, and Marines from the middle generation who were beaten time and again. Their morale in particular was very low and it could affect the younger waves of recruits coming in out of basic training.
Having someone like Swing around was good for rookies and old hands alike. Although she had not told him she was a Spartan, Carris assumed he knew. Marines who participated in special operations capacities had a tendency to work in conjunction with Spartan operatives and tactical teams. ONI made sure they did not blab to other units about the Spartans, but those Marines knew they existed and held them in high regard. Swing made use of her training and experience, and treated her like an assistant when he was instructing the men.
At that moment, he waved her over and she joined them in the middle of his lesson.
"...we can show you as many different martial arts disciplines as possible, but you have to remember in the thick of a battle, you're not going to be able to drop your rifle and adopt a pose. Covvies don't fight like us, and fighting like them is something a bit out of capabilities. But when you find yourself trading blow-for-blow with one of the freaks, you can't rely on one discipline on the other. You have to mix'em up, use what you know, and fight with everything you have."
He reached up and clapped a heavy hand on Carris's shoulders. "Now, the damn lot of you, ain't got a cunt-hair's chance in hell of beating this Petty Officer. But, you can learn something from having your ass beat over and over again. So, do I have any volunteers who want to try and take this soldier on?"
Carris smiled kindly at the Marines in front of her; she was not close with them like she was with the squad. But she knew their faces and some of their names, and they all knew her very well from her distinctive armor and fighting prowess. Smiling shyly and chuckling nervously, they looked at each other and back at her. She just looked at her boots, still smiling, knowing none of them wanted to try her.
"I'll give it a go."
Looking up, Steele walked forward, dressed in full armor save for his helmet, which was missing. His thick blonde hair was swept to the side by the warm, lazy breeze that occasionally rose and fell in the training yard.
"Good, Corporal," Swing said, waving him over.
"Are you sure that's a good idea, Master-Guns?" Carris asked.
"Of course; scout snipers should be trained hard in hand-to-hand. They never when some Jackal will come up behind them and try to fucking strangle them to death. Ain't that right, Corporal?"
"Hasn't happened to me yet, Master Gunnery Sergeant, but it's been close," Steele said.
Carris and Steele's blue eyes locked for a moment across the few feet in between them. As Swing stepped back to let the fight begin, Carris slowly shook her head. Steele did not respond by word or movement. When he raised his fists, he offered only a cheeky grin.
It was one Carris often found endearing. That kind of smirk might have appeared foolhardy and aloof, but she knew it was warm and sweet. It was just the way he smiled and she doubted few beyond their close-knit squad knew that. Each time he showed it, she felt better for seeing it. But at that moment, she felt angry and the smile only heightened her growing animosity.
"Go!" Swing shouted.
Steele came forward and swung his fist. Carris blocked it with her forearm, grabbed his face with her hand, put all her strength into her arm, and shoved him back. Steele was taken off his feet and fell onto his back as if he was hit by a car. Around them, there was a collective, "ooh!' from the Marines. Even Swing was surprised and whistled as he looked down at Steele. "Damn, son. What was that? You last for a whole...millisecond I think."
"Fuck you," Steele coughed as he found his breath.
"Fuck you, what?"
"Fuck you, sir."
"That's more like it," Swing grunted. "On your feet, Marine, let's see if you can last for a whole two milliseconds."
With a great deal of effort, Steele rose up; he looked like a groggy man who just got out of bed. After a moment, he came at Carris again. He swung and she stepped back; when he jabbed, she sidestepped it. Turning as she did, she caught the back of his armor's straps, stuck her foot out in front of him, and tripped him. Controlling his fall, she made sure he landed hard. When he did, the air went out of him and he sucked for air.
Swing shook his head. "Well, you made it to five milliseconds, that was far better than I was expecting you little runt. Look at you, you hardly look like a Marine." Swing crouched in front of Steele, grabbed a clump of his hair, and pulled up the sniper's head. "What's this shit on your head? You're prettier than some of the women I fucked."
"Trying to look my best, sir," Steele replied once he regained his breath. His voice was strained as he tried to mask the pain Swing was causing him.
A crowd was beginning to gather around them. At first, there were only Marines, but eventually, there were Navy seamen there too. The drill instructor brought him back on his feet by his hair then turned him around to face Carris.
"Try again. This time, act like a Marine."
Swing stepped back. Steele bounced on his feet a little, winding his arms to limber up, then charged. Carris deftly blocked several of his punches and remained on the defense. He was striking quickly but accurately; he was maintaining control so as not to leave himself open for a counter.
"C'mon, take her down, Steele!"
"Show her what Marines are made of, boy-o!"
"Don't listen to them Petty Officer, show'em just what a Navy woman can do!"
"Marines ain't got shit on you, Petty Officer!"
"Fuck off home, swabbie!"
"Tear that Marine's head off!"
Steele threw a punch, and another, and another. Carris then took a step back just as he threw a fourth. His fist did not hit her raised forearm, and he ended up lunging forward. Swinging her opposite arm forward like a wrecking ball, her fist collided in his gut. Steele's eyes popped, the wind was knocked out of him for a third time, and he immediately fell onto his hands and knees. After a few gasps, he vomited; he had not eaten, so it was just bright yellow bile.
As he sputtered, the Navy personnel jeered and yelled insults. Marines supplied encouragement. Swing walked over, folding his arms across his chest and shaking his head.
"You can shoot straight, devil dog, but you can't even land a real hit. I've had bowel movements that kicked my ass more than you ever could. You're a disgrace."
"Yes sir," Steele hacked, "a disgrace, sir."
The sniper got back up, holding his gut. "I've lied, I've played dirty, I've broken every rule in the book. I know who I am, I don't need you telling me, sir." When he spoke, he didn't look at Swing, but maintained a steely gaze with Carris. She just furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes.
"Oh, do you now?" Swing asked sarcastically. "Fine, then I won't tell you. Petty Officer, show him."
"Master Gunnery Sergeant!"
Before Carris could act, she looked over. Frost, Moser, and Grant were standing at the front of the crowd. He gestured for the other to stay put while he approached. "Sir, these two are from my squad. Not everyone's squared away, I don't think they should be fighting like this."
"Oh, we got ourselves a little lover's quarrel, huh?"
"No!" Carris and Steele shouted in unison. Swing's expression turned fiery as he looked at them.
"No what!?"
"No, sir!" they cried together.
"That's goddamn right, no-sir!" Swing turned around and poked Frost really hard in the shoulder. "You ain't in charge of this drill, Gunny, now get your ass back in line!"
Frost groaned, ran a hand down his face, but obeyed. Swing pointed at Carris. "Why aren't you caving his head in!?"
Carris rushed Steele. He planted his feet and raised his arms to block. But she swarmed him, undercutting his raised arms and striking him several times in the sides. Each time, he grunted in pain as he tried to back up. When he swung, she sidestepped, recoiled, or duck. He did not land one blow. Marines hollered advice and encouragement to the sniper while the seamen heaped Carris with praise.
Eventually, Carris broke his block, forcing his arms down. She grabbed him, twisted one of her legs around him, and forced him into a painful kneeling position. Looping her right arm under his left, she held it to the ground so he was angled.
"Yield," she growled.
"No," he said back through gritted teeth.
"Do you want me to break your arm?"
"You can break every bone in my body if you want to, love."
"Do not call me that."
"Why not, love?"
Carris growled, broke the lock, and picked him off his feet by his collar.
"What is your problem?" she asked him, his face merely a few inches from her own.
"You are," he whispered.
"Are you trying to spite me?"
"I'm trying to talk to you."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"I know, so I'm getting my ass kicked so I can hear your voice for a change." Suddenly, she felt his hand on her shoulder. "I miss talking to you."
Carris's glare softened for a moment, but only just. Gritting her teeth, she threw him to the ground hard. He recovered surprisingly quickly and began to get up. Instead of getting into a fighting stance, he began to hold up a hand. "Carris, I'm sorry."
"So am I!" she snarled. "Sorry I protected you!"
Just as he rose up, she struck him in the midsection. When she did, she felt something crunch against her fist. Steele gasped, fell onto the ground, let out a cry of pain she'd never heard before, and clutched his chest.
"That's enough!"
It was Captain Waters. She was beside Steele in a moment, along with Frost, Moser, and Grant. Swing stepped into view and pushed Carris back a few steps.
"Stand down, Petty Officer," he said, then crouched beside Steele. After a moment, he waved his hand. "Corpsman up!"
Captain Waters looked over her shoulder.
"Jasmine! Get over here!"
It wasn't long before two Corpsmen and Dr. Ebrahimi arrived. The others, save Frost, parted from Steele and began removing his armor. Soon, they erected a stretcher from their medical kit, placed Steele on it, and hurried off the track. Swing and Waters ordered the Raiders and gathered seamen to disperse.
Carris did not watch them go and was unaware of the many wary, surprised glanced they gave her. She was busy looking at her fist; her bare knuckles were brown.
Word Count: 6,641
Page Count (Google Docs): 16
Original Font: PT Serif
Original Line Spacing: 1.5
Author's Note: Hey, hey Viv. That force that guided you and Frost together? Yeah, that was me. Me and a little bit of that good ol' magical-realism!
This was more fun to write than the last chapter. I like building up the Port and describing the gathering war effort, as well as the hand-to-hand segments. The fight between Carris and Steele was my favorite part, but a lot of the dialogue between Vivian, Frost, and Jasmine takes the cake too. Swing is still a joy to write with. Anyways, hope you enjoyed it. I'm doing a little more quantifying, as you can see above, to keep myself organized and give myself some stats to review going forward, as well as provide some transparency for readers to see some of the stylistic choices I make, considering you don't get to see the actual pages I write. Everything on FFN gets super stretched out, ruining the formatting, strategic spacing and breaking, that I add for effect and to denote scene changes, tonal changes, and the like. It all gets lost with FFN, which is a bummer because I try to make my pages look like a page right out from a novel, from spacing and font choice and justification. Ah well.
Comment Responses:
Ctrl-Dalt-Delete: Well, that's super reassuring. I've seen media-depcitions of drill instructors and from research, some depictions are more accurate than others. Thankfully, there's a lot of documentaries actually made by the USMC available online that show what it's like for drill instructors to go to school and how they teach recruits, so I was able to draw from those too. But more than anything, I wanted Swing to have a really crafty way of talking, a sort of verbal-jabbing, who easily gets under a Marine's skin, rather than just somebody who screams and swears all day long. He does scream and swear, but not all the time, and that was the key.
You can expect to see Swing become a rather prevailing force in the story ahead. And thanks!
MightBeGone: Yeah, it used to come to me then a lot too. Honestly, sometimes my motivation to write comes just before I turn in for the night, which is always a pain in the side. But I try to reserve it for the next day. My biggest motivation is having the time to read, which means getting up early; the more time I have for writing, the more motivated I am. If I get up at say, ten-thirty in the morning, I'm not as motivated because I lost a good three to four hours of writing time.
And hey, I never said no Starris. Don't lose hope just yet, my man.
The angels in the sky: My first reaction is to say, 'well I love you so that evens things out,' but I'll just say thank you a whole bunch instead. Glad you enjoy it.
TheShadeOps: Yep, you'll see that a bit more in the coming chapters, some more tangible results than here, where you get more of a snippet.
I'll do my best, my friend! Thank you!