Ch. 15 Breaking Point
The Warthogs parked near the a lake that flowed down the grassy terrain towards a cliff ahead, where it cascaded into a crystal clear pool surrounded by trees. As soon as the marines got out they began to bomb the Master Chief with questions.
" Why did we leave our guys there?"
" What the hell were you thinking Chief?"
" We should have stayed to help them!"
" Listen soldiers!" yelled the Master Chief. " I had no choice. I had a direct order from the Admiral to evacuate from the ruins and bring you all to safety. I cannot disobey a direct order from a superior officer."
All the marines looked ashen-faced as they heard this statement. The military discipline that they had been trained into them for so long clashed with the morals of leaving their comrades behind. The Master Chief felt sick. He had left so many good men…
Chris walked out from the group of soldiers and confronted the Spartan.
"So, the great Spartan thinks that because of the Admiral's little statement he now has an excuse to run off from the fight. Now your safe and alive enough to show the rest of the world that you're still invincible right?"
He stood inches from the Master Chief's visor. A steady buzzing filled the Spartan's head as his muscles tensed.
"So now we see the truth, don't we Spartan? You look good in your armor and you show off your medals and crap, but in real fight when real men are in danger, you walk out of them? This is what I think of you!"
He spat right on the Spartan's visor. The Master Chief wiped the spittle from his vision and continued to stare at the Hell-jumper. His vision blurred as anger built up from inside. He was slightly shaking and felt the vein on his neck throb as his hands tightened.
"I guess that answers my question of how you probably survived Reach and Halo," Chris suddenly said. "You probably ditched the marines and your freakish friends to save your own…"
It happened it a flash. The Spartan's fist seemed to involuntarily collide with the Hell-jumper's gut. Chris reeled over, face wide in surprise as he attempted to recover from the sudden blow. Without pausing the Master Chief grabbed the Hell-jumper's throat and single-handedly lifted him in the air. With the other hand he ignited the plasma sword near his belt and aimed it at Chris's neck.
The other Hell-jumpers immediately brought out their Battle Rifles and aimed at the Spartan. He turned around to face the hostile soldiers.
" It will take you approximately six seconds before your shots penetrate through both my gold armor and shield. By that time this bastard's throat will be cut and I will have beheaded all five of you in two lunges. I would advise against your impulsive actions."
Knowing that the Master Chief's words rang true and realizing how serious and dangerous he was they slowly leveled their weapons. Robert was sobbing as he attempted to convince the Master Chief to release the held Hell-Jumper.
The gagging persisted as the Hell-jumper's lack of oxygen brought him closer to his demise. He squirmed and kicked but the Spartan held him at an arm's length away.
" I've had to put up with your shit every since I got into this mess," he snarled. " I saw countless numbers of brave men and women fight and die on Reach and Halo. I saw countless numbers of boys younger than seventeen get shot in the head by plasma bolts and crushed by an Elite's melee. Those "freaks" that you call, saved countless lives on countless planets so that they could go on more countless missions and get scorned by countless bastards like you!"
His rage screamed at his muscles to impale the Hell-jumper on the sword. He raised it and stared at Chris. And dropped his plasma sword.
He didn't see what he expected to see. He didn't see fear, hate, despair or anguish on the face of the Hell-jumper. He only saw sadness that was altered by stubbornness on the tough face.
He instantly released Chris. The Hell-jumper fell to the ground, breathing sharply as he obtained the oxygen that had been taken away from him in those few precious seconds. The Master Chief slowly walked over to the stream.
" Make camp and start a fire," said the Sergeant quietly. " Reload the bullet belts for the Warthogs as well. We've got a long day tomorrow."
The Sergeant walked over to the Master Chief, who had knelt by the flowing water and was staring at it. He sat near him and took out a cigar.
" You alright Chief?" he asked as he lit the cigar with his engraved zippo.
" Shouldn't you be asking the Hell-jumper that sir?"
" That bastard deserved it. I'm surprised you held out that long against his taunts."
The Master Chief continued to stare at the stream. Several minutes passed before he spoke.
" It wasn't him I was mad at, " the Spartan said gruffly. " He just added a little more gas to the roaring fire that was inside of me for so long. I've seen too many people die Hanson, and I'm tired of it. I see the Flood in my nightmares every night. Every nightmare I recap an event when I had to fight those…things and barely survive. I never wanted to see those parasites again. Now, after losing everyone on Halo, I've lost even more marines on this mission that's pits us against higher odds."
" Forgive me for saying," said the Sergeant. " But don't you Spartans specialize against increasing odds? I've heard you killed armies with just ten of you at a time."
" That was in the past. Now, I've lost all my teammates and the odds just keep coming. There's a certain physical and mental limit to continuously defy death and live. I think I've just about hit my peak."
" Master Chief, as one of your greatest admirers and fans of this century, please allow me to offer one answer to your predictament."
The Master Chief looked at the Sergeant, wondering what possible advice a marine could give one of the strongest soldiers on Earth.
" Stop being a wuss."
The Master Chief, sure that he was going to get a lecture or some philosophical discussion, was taken aback by the comment.
" Wha-?"
" Master Chief, I know you've been through hell and back, but do you honestly think you're the only one who just lost a bunch of pals and then lost even more during this war?"
The Spartan was silent as he contemplated these words.
" I was part of the 7th battalion when we were sent Colony Reap to fend off an invasion from the Covenant. Back then, they didn't gas planets or colonies, they merely attacked in large numbers to secure the area and use it for themselves. That was until they discovered out superiority on the ground," he said with a hint of pride.
" Well, we landed, and we followed the usual procedure of following the enemy and then attacking them with boxed tactics. We had warthogs gunners, snipers and we even were able to plant explosives near their base. Our stationary machine guns mowed down waves of the bastards and our victory was assured. Until the Brutes showed up…"
" They seemed invincible to our bullets. Few fell under our heavy fire, and the rest began to tear my battalion apart. I saw friends I had known of years get instantly torn to pieces by the beasts while some had their skulls crushed by their fists. Our snipers were the ones who took them all down, but not before more than two-thirds of my group had been KIA. Then, as we began to make a retreat to call in reinforcements, all our snipers died in exactly three seconds."
" Camouflaged Elites snuck up behind them and slit their throats. With no cover fire, we again were put under heavy fire by the remaining Covenant force. I was able to grab a few wounded and throw them onto a Warthog and drive outta there. I was the only vehicle that ever left that battle. Only two of the wounded survived, and guess who was one of them?"
The Master Chief knew the answer even before the name formed on the Sergeant's lips.
" Chris Onfrey. That soldier was part of the Hell-jumper unit that had assisted us. He had gunned down over fifty of the freaks with a machine gun before he had gotten hit by three plasma bursts. He still managed to prime and toss a grenade at the group of Elite and Jackals chasing me, giving me the ample time to get to the Warthog and pick up the wounded. He basically saved my life that day."
" Master Chief, just to shorten up an old man's blabbing, let me tell you something. You can't mope over the deaths in the past. That just hurts you more in the future. I've been down that road, and it only makes you lose even more men cause you're so stuck in the past. Suck it up, and save the men of today and tomorrow, not of yesterday."
The Sergeant got up and left the Spartan pondering his words. How could he be such a fool? People were dying and suffering in this war, and he had only managed to think of himself the whole time. He did not feel like Spartan 117, Master Chief. He felt like John, the man who was constantly trapped in his nightmares.
His gold armor glowed as the organisms felt a vigorous energy course through him. It wasn't vengeance, or anger, it felt more like the need to deal out justice against the foes who were annihilating his people. His comrades.
