"Text" = Speech

"Text" = Nonverbal Communication

'Text' = Thought

Text = Onomatopoeia

Chapter 3: The Viper and The Wolf

June 18th, 2568

Location Unknown

Andrew shifted, his personal SAW blended in with the foliage around him. He checked the local map, Sam and Jesse were in a tree forty meters behind his position and King hid in the foliage thirty meters ahead of him. The first radar ball pinged. Thermer broadcast on TEAMCOM.

"Three, eyes up. Hostiles two mikes out. Four, you got eyes?" Two green lights flashed on his HUD. "Wait until the third ball pings. Good call on modding those to work with Artemis, Two. Four, you know the drill, only if they need it."

Three green lights winked at him. Number two pinged, slowly their map filled with tactical data. Sam's voice filled their channel. "Objective in sight. Back of formation, cuffed. Two guards behind."

The third ball pinged. Thermer's voice came on the channel. "Phoenix Two, cleared to engage, Three smoke it out."

Andrew opened fire, cutting down the first three hostile targets in front of him. King popped a smoke grenade at the back of the formation. Not that King needed the cover, not with his active camouflage. The brown armored Spartan moved silently through the thick cloud of acrid smoke. He unholstered his M6H2, a tactical variant, and dropped the rear guards with the suppressed weapon. Turning the man in cuffs around, King's visor matched the man to their objective.

"Positive ID, Phoenix Three making exfil." Andrew fired into the enemy column, trying to maintain their confusion, but the smoke was clearing. King didn't have enough time. Two enemies were closing on him, rifles readied.

"Phoenix Four, tangos on Three, take a shot," Andrew shouted. Silence. No shot, nothing. Andrew sprang into action. The closest targets had no time to react. A blur of green, black and white launched from the underbrush right passed them. The camouflaged blur fired three suppressed shots from an M6C SOCOM. All three landed in his target, the phosphorous rounds sizzled and seared the wound channel. Andrew slid passed the falling body as a sniper cracked through the forest. He launched from the ground and tackled the other. CLACK CLACK CLACK! Gore spit up around the barrel of the Spartan's pistol. He stood up and immediately took fire from the remaining soldiers. Quickly he removed a can from one of his pouches, the can looked like an ordinary aerosol can apart from the fluorescent yellow strip Andrew had sprayed onto it.

"Phoenix One, pull!" He tossed the can into the air, then it went white. The C7 foaming explosive detonated as soon as Thermer's bullet punctured the can. The marksman watched as the enemies collapsed to the ground, each one a perforated mess. Andrew skittered across the forest path and slammed into a tree. Warnings flared on Thermer's HUD. Andrew's vitals showed five broken ribs, severe internal hemorrhaging, and a concussion.

"Objective Secured, Mission Accomplished," the voice came from the sky and the forest around them shimmered away. The War Games simulator returned to its normal black and blue grid pattern and released the restraint on Andrew's armor. Andrew got to his feet and recovered his weapons before walking up to Sam. In one swift move Andrew cracked Sam across the face. The Spartan-IV clattered to the floor. He didn't expect the punch. Sam stood up and ripped his helmet off. Andrew matched him.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" Andrew stared down Sam. The Spartan-III's eyes seemed to glow like orbs of harlequin fire. Andrew stood mere centimeters from Sam.

"That was for hesitating. You nearly cost me my life, you nearly cost King his, and put the objective at excessive risk." Andrew didn't just say the words, he growled them.

"It was just a training sim, Andrew. Don't take it so serious." Sam's words filled with venom.

"Don't take it so seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? Or did you forget that we've been living under O.N.I's microscope for three fucking months because we failed to retrieve an informant? I don't give a shit if you could've lined them both up. I tell you to take the shot, you fucking take it. Your ego does not come before the mission objective. This ain't the fucking Wolfpack. I don't care how you guys did it back then. You're a Spartan now and you're under my command." Andrew snapped back. Sam's azure eyes filled with hate. Bringing up an old unit was taboo, but to insinuate that they put personal pride before duty was a low blow. Sam jumped at Andrew, his prosthetic arm making the first swing. Andrew simply fanned the attack away. Thermer stepped between them. His crimson visor seemed to glow an even deeper red.

"ENOUGH! I've had it up to here with you two. Sam, Andrew is right. You put a display of your skill above the safety of the target. This may be a sim, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't act like it's the real deal. Were this real, Andrew would have died about two minutes ago choking on the blood in his lungs. He would've died to ensure the rest of us didn't lose our careers to another O.N.I investigation. Andrew, I know you're pissed, but that gave you no right to bring up Wolfpack. You know that's taboo. Beyond that, the C7 was excessive. You could've used a thermite grenade to divert their attention. I get the example you're trying to set for Sam, but it wasn't the right call. Now, if the two of you still want to pummel each other you'll go strip your armor off and hit the octagon in the fitness center. May as well put on a show for the Marines. Dismissed."


Andrew stretched his arms over his head and rolled his shoulders. Barefoot and shirtless, he felt naked as he walked around the octagon. Sam mirrored his movements, with the exception of the prosthetic arm, which had been wrapped to help pad strikes with it. Most of the people who had crammed into the fitness center knew to the two Spartans to some degree. Much of the UNSC's Delta Forti personnel had been moved to Lambda Rho. Those who didn't know the Spartans marveled at the viper which covered Andrew's back. It's mouth agape, fangs bared, the ink almost seemed to come alive and stretch its massive maw as Andrew moved. Andrew's torso showed the cost of his service. Countless burns, puncture wounds and the two angry lines of the energy sword that nearly ended his life.

"I want a clean fight you two. Andrew I swear to God if you break his prosthetic I'm making you fix it." Andrew just huffed at his team leader. Thermer chose to act as ref, just to be sure they didn't kill each other in there. "Keep your head in check too, I don't want to peel you off him if a certain aug kicks in."

"Just shut up and get this party started." Andrew walked to the center to tap gloves with Caster. King hit the buzzer to signify the start of the fight. The two Spartans backed away from each other and began to prowl the octagon, looking for weaknesses in their opponent.

A full minute went by, the tension in the building was palpable. Andrew's fighting stance put his left foot forward. Sam knew better than to strike the left side of Andrew's body. Being the most damaged side, the veteran Spartan always placed it forward hoping the stress and pain would trigger the augmentations that put him in a bipolar rage. Sam knew the fight would end then and there if it happened.

"Hey Sam, if he breaks your robo arm do ya think you could get him to put a grapple launcher on there," King asked, growing bored of the staring contest.

"Shut it, Roof Korean," Sam growled in response. Andrew took advantage of the distraction. He cleared the distance and fired off two left side kicks, both landing just below Sam's guard. The impacts sounded like twin gunshots. Sam lashed out with a left cross, the bionic arm narrowly missing Andrew's nose.

"C'mon Peanut Boy, gotta be quicker than that," Andrew goaded.

Sam was faster than Andrew. Spartan-IVs were built to rely on superior mobility and technology. Andrew and the other SPARTAN-IIIs were much bulkier, built to tank more physical damage but at a cost to speed. If Andrew were to win this fight he'd have to taunt and tire Sam out before forcing the younger Spartan into submission. Sam kept swapping his stance. One foot in front, hop, other foot in front, rinse and repeat. Andrew waited. There, the opening. SMACK! CRACK! THUMP! Andrew fired a right side kick followed by a push kick while Sam was mid hop. Sam hit the mats hard. Andrew waited for Caster to stand back up. The two Spartans closed in on each other. A symphony of blows ensued. One after the other. To the Spartans each strike came in slow motion, their enhanced reaction time allowing them to tighten the impact zone before taking the hit. To the crowd that had gathered, everything was happening at breakneck speeds. Suddenly Andrew hit the mat, legs wide open. Sam dropped down in an attempt to deliver more blows before his opponent could recover.

'Checkmate,' Andrew thought. Quicker than a Kig-Yar snapping at fresh meat, Andrew had Sam in a figure four choke. 'No way out now, just tap kid.' Sam didn't tap though, he started to stand up. They were close to the edge octagon. Andrew could almost feel the cage against his hair. 'I can work with this.' Sam was on his feet now, it was Andrew's only shot. He relinquished the choke, extended his arms and shot a kick at Sam's gut as he fell. His hands hit the cage as he bounced off of Sam. Andrew rolled away and sprang up to his feet as fast as possible.

BOOM! Andrew hit the mat before he knew what hit him. Blood trickled down from his nose down his lips and chin. Andrew stood up slowly and reset his nose.

"What's wrong snake man? All bark no bite? C'mon old man," Sam taunted. Andrew pushed back against the augs. Gamma company's illegal augments made fighting smart difficult. The more stress, the more pain, the more they could shrug off but it came at a cost; control. Andrew's control was slipping, he had to finish this fast. He moved closer to Sam, who threw a crescent kick to push the veteran back. 'Fucker is just gonna keep trying to push me back. Gotta close the distance. Gotta finish this.' Andrew pushed in again, dodging another kick. 'Close enough.' Andrew snapped off three left footed side kicks, each landing higher than the last. Thigh, obliques, ribs; Sam caught Andrew's foot on the last kick.

"OFFICER ON DECK!" Thermer shouted; suddenly ramrod straight, salute held firm. Andrew yanked his leg back and snapped to attention. In fact, the entire fitness center was at attention. Spartan Commander Athena McKnight stood ringside.

"Phoenix, my office now. The rest of you clear out." The Spartan Commander was not pleased. The fitness center roared in unison, "Yes ma'am."


Phoenix stood in the Commander's office, each one standing as still as light post. McKnight sat behind her desk, an apple in hand.

"I have a number of questions and not enough time for you four to answer them. So, imagine my surprise when I hear that two of my Spartans are locked in a grudge match, beating the shit out of each other, another is playing referee and the fourth is running illegal ringside gambling using software made by one of the fighters over eight years ago." Her tone was one of righteous fury.

"Ma'am, I understand your concern, but this fight was a good thing. Since March, tensions in the team have been running high. Without a release it could have seriously damaged unit cohesion. I didn't know about King's gambling, I was worried about keeping them from seriously injuring each other." Thermer stepped forward as he offered an explanation.

"Did I give you permission to speak, Spartan?" Her response was one that needed no answer. Andrew eyed down the Commander. 'Fucking authority. This is bullshit. Just a fucking fight.'

"Permission to speak freely ma'am," Andrew stepped forward this time. Maybe she'd go for a straightforward approach.

"Granted Spartan 199." Andrew grimaced at the misnomer.

"First and foremost ma'am, it's G199. Second, Spartan Thermer is right. This fight allowed Spartan Caster and I to settle some steam generated during training exercises today. I'm sure that you wouldn't want one of your best anti-insurgency units to falter in the field." McKnight stood up and marched straight up to Andrew.

"What is it you're trying to get at Spartan? Are you suggesting my frustrations are unwarranted? Are you suggesting that the poster boys of the UNSC acting like children in the schoolyard is acceptable behavior," she sneered.

"No ma'am, I'm simply suggesting that units as close as ours run into some difficulties. Should we find a way to settle these issues and hone our skills simultaneously, it can be beneficial to us," Andrew's complete disregard for her ire only aggravated her further. Andrew noticed King staring at his nose. He started to communicate nonverbally.

"What?"

"It's still off kilter."

"Reset it, fucker."

The Commander stepped back in shock as King stepped in front of Andrew and snapped the Spartan's nose back into place. "Thanks mate," King just nodded in reply.

"Seeing as your unit seems to be as stressed as it is I'm going to put you all on leave. Computer, how many months does this unit have built up in leave," McKnight asked.

"Approximately three months for Spartans Thermer, King and Caster. Spartan G199 has an abnormally large amount of leave time built up. Two years. It seems he only ever uses liberty, but never leave." The dumb AI said far too cheerily for Andrew.

"One month leave. Off world. Cheer up kiddos, you're going to Earth. Spartans Thermer, King and Caster, you are dismissed. I want to speak with your explosives expert for a while."


My intention with the re-edits is to make action and dialogue flow better. These older chapters can be difficult to read as entire conversations can happen within one paragraph. Hopefully I'll be able to fix that and catch any grammatical or spelling errors along the way.

(03/12/20 14:47)