Chapter One:

The Big Horn River was not a popular swimming site, and for good reason. In fact, a rumour has it that an off-duty Marine who was taking laps in it was thrown in the brig to wait for psychological evaluation. But the new cadets struggling to stave off hypothermia in the frigid waters would have welcomed a nice, 'warm', brig cell.

"Swim you maggots," Shouted a darkly tanned Marine Major. "How can you expect to be soldiers if you can't even stand a little dip?" The Major laughed.

After six minutes in the sub-zero water the Major let the trainees get out of the river. They dragged themselves onto the side, most of them fighting unconsciousness.

"Cadets, get back to the barracks, warm up, and get your boots on," The major eyes glinted darkly. "We're going for a run."

There would have been a chorus of swearing and muttered oaths about the Major's mother if the trainees hadn't been fighting for breath.

If this sounds like a death camp, that's pretty close. This is the UNSC Infantry Basic Training Camp on the fortress world Reach.

Somehow the trainees got back to the barracks, and it was 'democratically agreed' that the fittest guys were taking the first showers. The threat of 'mutilation' and 'bodily harm' somewhat helped along the decision.

The cadets where mostly ready when the Major entered the bunkhouse and barked out, "Trainees, form up, let's go, anybody not right behind through the whole run goes home, with a little gift from each of your fellow wannabe's."

Some of the guy's, the ones who were the last to hit the showers, were only halfway through lacing their boots, but their determination showed through when they simply pulled off their boots and set off barefoot.

The run was around the camp's perimeter, through the thick Douglas fir timberland, and then a final sprint down the airfield. The cadets legs were already shaking from the river's cold, and they were soon fatigued to the point of collapse. The barefooted runners really suffered, especially through the woodland, as the Major ran them through bush and bramble.

Two of the cadets distinguished themselves in the run. Tim Dickens, an eighteen-year-old from Earth, and Ricky Carmine, a small little teen off Quarry, an iron mining station. They kept astride of the Major through the whole run, Tim from natural ability and amazing stamina, and Ricky from sheer determination, he was barefoot, and at the end he had blisters the size of grapes.

This was the trainees first day on Reach. As you'd have already figured, the UNSC was anxious to get tough-as-nails troops out to the frontline to combat the new, disturbing alien threat.

After the run the cadets gathered in the off-duty lounge, to get acquainted and get a much-needed drink. Ricky sat at the bar by himself, nursing a tumbler of scotch. By civilian law, Ricky would have been prosecuted for underage drinking, seeing as how he was only sixteen. But there was certain perks for being a soon-to-be UNSC soldier.

A flight cadet with the shoulder badge Rammis walked up to the bar.

"Bartender, whiskey, neat, double." The flyer took the stool next to Ricky.

Rammis happened to glance at the infantrymen's feet, and seeing the multitude of scratches, scrapes, and horribly big blisters, he gave a low whistle.

"I thought you ground sloggers were supposed to take care of their feet, being that their your only way to get around." He smiled.

Ricky looked at him, a smile of his own spreading. Deep down he was really happy to have the companionship.

"And I thought you flyboys were to high in the clouds to visit a infantrymen's bar," he shot back.

"Good point," he put out his hand. "The name's Mark."

Ricky clasped it in a solid shake.

"Name's Ricky, and I've got to say you're the most non stuck-up flyboy I've met so far."

Mark accepted his whiskey from the bartender, taking a deep swill, and letting the high-alcohol, low-quality liquor burn it's way to his stomach. It had been a hard day's flying, doing a ground-hugger run through the Cascade Ravines.

"Thanks," he said. "I guess."

Ricky gave a grin.

"Well, besides the freighter pilot on the way here, you're the first one I've met." Mark laughed.

"Well I'll just make myself worthy of the compliment."

Rammis took another swig of his whiskey.

"So how long you been in this hell hole?"

Ricky laughed. "Would you believe nine hours?"