Chapter 3: Haze

Reach was a beautiful planet. Less populated, polluted, and industrialized than Earth was. Everything had a natural beauty to it, and today was no different. A cloudless sky, with only the sun to contrast the blue. The strong ozone layer that hadn't pealed away protected the inhabitants of the planet, and a slight summer's breeze kept it cool.

Sgt. Nathan Little though, wished the sky was filled with dark gray clouds, and pouring rain, blocking the beauty of the sun. With strong winds that mocked the very essence of life. All to fit his mood.

He had come home. After six years on the frontlines of the war against the Covenant, he had come home. But his welcome was less than warm.

"You think you can just walk back into my life after being gone for six years. You never wrote, you rarely sent e-mails. Now you think you can just come strutting back in here like you own the place," Shelly, Nathan's wife yelled at him. Nathan's mind reeled in confusion. He did own the house, what had happened?

She had been seeing someone else, had been for two years, and when Nathan came home, she shoved the divorce papers into his hands. He read them, his mind whirling in a state of shock. How could this have happened, he explained to her that he had no choice but to go and fight, and that he would rarely get to write to her. Shelly though, didn't care.

Nathan went to see his son. But Shelly refused to let her son be around him. Nathan had no visitation rights, and she had taken everything as her own, even his dog. He couldn't even take his fucking dog.

Nathan had stumbled back to his car, and managed to drive to the nearest city. He trudged to the nearest bar, and spent a good fifty bucks on cheap liquor.

Nathan woke up later in a jail, covered in blood. He was laying on a lumpy mattress, and when he tried to move, he threw up. His head pounded in his hung over state. A police officer handed him some pills for his head ache, and they helped. The officer also explained to him that he had gotten into a bar fight. No one was sure how the fight started, but Nathan had broken a man's nose, and cut another man across the chest with a broken beer bottle.

He found himself in court a few days later, and was acquitted of his charges because evidence proved that he had acted in self defense. Three other men were charged with assault.

Cpl. Nathan Little peered through the scope of the sniper rifle. It was powerful enough to plow through the armor of a scorpion tank, but he was using it against a man. A man who was spreading lies about the UNSC, and was also a known terrorist. He had bombed a few battle cruisers, and some UNSC buildings. His name was Graham Novikov.

He was giving a speech right now in St. Augustine, a city on Reach. Nathan had been assigned to take him out. A few squads of marines were ready to take out the terrorists that followed him.

As Nathan placed the sight over Novikov's left eye he wondered what his girlfriend Shelly would think of this. She thought that he was training. No matter, she wouldn't find out about this.

Nathan placed his finger on the trigger of the sniper rifle. Then squeezed. The boom of the rifle almost deafened him, and the gun jumped against his shoulder. He saw the glass of the building Novikov was in, explode when the bullet passed through it.

Nathan quickly put his eye against the scope to see if he had gotten his target. Novikov's head had exploded like melon, spraying blood everywhere. People were screaming, and running away. Novikov's body still stood in place, a chunk of his skull splattered across the wall behind him, as well as gray chunks of his brain matter.

Only his bottom jaw was left in place, then his body fell forward, and blood pooled across the ground.

Nathan clamped a hand across his mouth, as bile pushed up his throat. He ripped his face away from the scope, he had never seen anything like what he had just done. Nathan leaned out the open window of the office building he was in and threw up.

Across the street, marines rushed into the building, their assault rifles gunning down terrorists who were trying to escape now that their leader was blown away.

"Cpl. Little, good job, get to the extraction point. You can go home," his Sgt. said over the radio.

The rioters threw a beer bottle at the marines. They stormed through the city they had nearly destroyed in their rage. It was a rebellion against the UNSC. They wanted nothing but blood.

Pvt. Nathan Little held his assault rifle across his chest. He knew what was coming, but he didn't want to do it, though he knew he would anyway. He stared at the civilians turned murderous criminals before him.

"Ready your weapons," the Sgt. roared above the cries of the rebels. Nathan swallowed the bile that threatened to burst forth from his throat. He brought his assault rifle to his shoulder, and aimed it towards the approaching rioters.

"Aim your weapons," the Sgt. commanded. Nathan closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for the lives he was about the take. He settled his finger against the trigger.

"They won't fire," one of the rebels shouted, and the mob continued to advance.

'No you fools, get out of here while you still can' Nathan thought, opening his eyes. Deep in his heart he knew that these people would probably kill him if they got the chance, but he was still doubtful on shooting civilians.

"Fire," the Sgt ordered, and the rioters stopped, realizing they were wrong.

The marines all squeezed their triggers at once. The assault rifles of the twenty marines jumped to life, and the bullets sped across the distance between the marines and the mob. The bullets tore through the people, and their blood sprayed in a crimson mist behind them.

Dozens fell at a time, their chests dotted with dark red holes that oozed blood. People fell to their knees, and caught bullets in the face. Nathan saw the backs of their skulls explode in a gory shower of brains, bone and blood.

'No, you should have run' Nathan thought as his magazine ran on empty.

"Run you maggots, run," the drill Sgt. yelled, his booming voice drowning out the pounding footsteps as the marine recruits ran around the track. Nathan Little could feel sweat running down his chest. His damp shirt clung to his skin.

Once they were done running they had to climb a wall using the mesh attached to it, then jump down the other side. There was more running, then a muddy pit which they had to cross using metal bars above it.

Nathan ground his teeth together as he made his way across. The pain in his arms was growing with each bar, but he tried his best to ignore it. He made it to the other side, and had to climb a steep ramp with a single rope for the marines to go up one at a time.

Once up there was a hanging rope to swing across to another platform. Below was thick mud that men had drowned in before. Nathan grabbed the rope, and swung across, landing on the platform.

A cable ran from the platform to the ground. He wrapped his callused hands around the cable, and stepped off the platform. He slid along the cable to land on the grass below. His chest heaved with exertion, but he couldn't stop now. He continued to run to the next obstacle.

He had to climb over a barbwire fence, then crawl across a field while machine guns fired over his head. He had heard of a few men who had stupidly put their head up, and had their life snuffed out by the large caliber bullets.

Nathan had no such problem as he crawled through the churned dirt. When he reached the end and stood up, he saw the drill Sgt. standing in front of him.

"Head to the mess hall for some food lad," he said with a smile and patted Nathan on the shoulder.

Later that night, Nathan walked into the mess hall for dinner and found that they were serving something special for the recruits today. Spaghetti.

Nathan smiled as he picked up his plate full of pasta, and sat with his buddies. They all ate in silence, enjoying this rare treat. About fifteen minutes into the delicious meal, after everyone had had a good helping, the drill Sgt. walked in.

"Okay everyone, time to go for a run," he said, with his twisted little smile.

The recruits stared at him, but quickly found themselves running down the road from the training camp to Mt. Jacob. As they were running, marines often had to stop and throw up. By the end of the run everyone had hurled at least three times.

"Don't you all love the marines," the drill Sgt. yelled out. The reply he received was less than enthusiastic.