Chapter 7: No Holds Barred
July 30th, 2568
Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System
The pings of metal hitting metal filled the CQC arena. Knives flashed in the bright light as two Spartans fought; one green and black, the other brown and green. Sparks flashed into existence as the knives scraped off titanium plating. To outside observers every motion was blindingly fast, but the Spartans saw everything at a snail's pace. Some would swear that the two combatants were actually trying to kill one another, but Andrew and King knew the truth and the smiles behind their visors said it all. Fun wasn't something people responsible for defending humanity often considered, but this was amusing. An all out fight, only lethal strikes were banned. The two CQB specialists loved the thrill of getting in close and personal. Andrew felt it more civilized. It gave his foe the benefit of knowing who struck them down. King was a touch sadistic and often did it just to demoralize and scare his enemies.
The Spartans' knives collided again, the pieces of steel sang as they scraped off one another. The blades' ringing filled the air. King took a slash at Andrew who flared his thrusters, pushing him backwards. Andrew dropped low and tossed his knife at King before sprinting towards his foe. The brown clad Spartan knocked the knife into the air above him just in time for Andrew to jump and plant a boot in King's chest. Using his teammate as a springboard Andrew soared into the air, catching the knife in his left hand and drawing his second knife with the right as he landed. "So you can teach an old dog new tricks," King laughed as he stood back up. "Old? You're one to talk. You're six years older than me."
Andrew dropped his guard, almost inviting King to strike. King closed the gap in the blink of an eye. Left jab, right cross, left side kick. Andrew couldn't raise his guard in time to stop the punches, but he did block the kick. The right cross left a new scratch in his helmet. That was fine by Andrew, the more scrapes the more stories he had to tell. He pushed King away, just enough to get an arm's length between them. Now it was his turn. He feigned a right cross, pulling it at the last second to fire off a push kick. He followed with a crescent kick that again, he intentionally missed. Using the kick's momentum he hopped into the air flipping and firing another kick with his right leg, this time aiming to hit. He flared the thrusters on his leg at the last second to get as much speed and force as he could. King had his guard back up in time to save his head from the jet powered kick, but the impact still sent him stumbling. Andrew's HUD flashed a red warning briefly. "That was a little excessive, but badass nonetheless."
"Spartan-G199 report to base medical for an emergency session. Say again, Spartan-G199 report to base medical for emergency session." The two Spartans looked at each other confusedly. "I guess it's a draw. Suppose we should stop anyway, we've been at it over an hour. See you in the barracks King."
Andrew stepped into Arrin's office and was immediately aggravated. "What the hell are they doing here?" He waved his arm in the direction of his team. He hadn't even removed his helmet since leaving the CQC arena. "Andrew, please come take a seat. I'll explain everything in a moment." The Spartan took a few steps in and closed the door. "Andrew, why are you limping," Arrin asked softly. Andrew twisted his helmet and pulled up, the air tight seal hissing as he removed it. "I'm fine Doc. Now will you tell me why in the hell they are here," he asked venomously. "Not until you tell me what happened to your leg." He hated when she got stubborn. "I am fine," he said through gritted teeth. "No you-" Thermer cut her off. "Spartan Gamma One Niner Niner, report status of right leg. That's an order." Andrew snapped to attention. "Sir, yes Sir," that was sure to get tick Jesse off. "Right leg has suffered a torn calf and pulled quadricep. Injury sustained during Rogue Spartan Scenario with Spartan King, Sir." Andrew remained stiff as a rod. King cut in, "He fired a thruster enhanced kick at my dome. I blocked it. I'm pretty sure he ignored the HUD warning." Thermer nodded an acknowledgement at King. "At ease Spartan. Next time you call me 'Sir' I'll punch you in the throat. Now, your doctor brought us all here to address your self sacrificial tendencies." Jesse had Andrew's full attention now, and a great deal of his ire too. Andrew marched up to his unarmored leader and stared down into his eyes. "I think you mean training, boss." Andrew still held on to his helmet; the hefty piece of armor trembled slightly as his grip tightened. Arrin moved to where Andrew stood and grabbed him by the elbow in an attempt to calm him. That was not what happened.
"Y'all wanna talk about why I throw myself at the enemy? Why I act like minor injuries are nothing more than an inconvenience? Fine. Let's talk about Project Chrysanthemum. The Project is what created the SPARTAN-IIIs. It wasn't just our augs, it was the training too. The goal of Chrysanthemum was to create a new generation of easily produced, disposable super soldiers. We had a wider gene pool than the Spartan-IIs. We had a faster training program. Gamma Company was given augments that cause bipolar anger in stressful situations. Alpha Company only had a handful of Cat Twos. The rest? Fucking dead on their first major deployment. Here's the real shock for you. I entered training in '44. I was born in '39. I was deployed at thirteen years of age. Those files that say I've spent time in cryo are a fabrication to save O.N.I from having to admit that the Spartan-IIs and SPARTAN-IIIs are child soldiers!" The fire in Andrew's eyes burned intensely as he looked around the room. Arrin had retreated from the irate Spartan. King was staring at the ground and Sam was twiddling his thumbs. Thermer was looking right at Andrew. "You know how I say I'm going to get my Smoothers everytime we come back from combat? That's me saying 'hey, I'm gonna go get drugged so I don't think you're the enemy and fucking murder you.' My generation of Spartans was made to die. We were taught to die fighting. I can't help it." This time the hulking mass of grass and pepper armor had locked eyes with his leader. No one else said a thing. Andrew huffed and left the room.
"Shadow box simulation. Subject Gamma One Niner Niner Foxtrot Papa Zero Two. Safety protocols low." Andrew stood in the wargames simulator alone. He paced in circles as the simulation established around him. This wasn't the first time he'd run this sim. It was a bit unsettling the first time around, but by now it almost seemed normal. 'Warehouse. Not bad as far as settings go.' Finally his foe materialised. The hardlight projection took form, a mirror image of Andrew. The Spartan raised his guard.
The construct ran straight at Andrew, foregoing all caution. The Spartan liked to start off strong, but this thing, this copy of him had started at full bore. It was like the computer chose to start him off on the defensive. That was fine by him, more fuel for the fire that raged in his mind. More reason to hit harder, fight recklessly and wear himself ragged. 'Let's go fucker. Show me what you got.' The construct's flurry of strikes continued, Andrew dodging what he could and tanking the rest of the hits. A slight opening came forth and the enraged Spartan took it, delivering a heavy punch where the thing's intestines should start. It staggered. WHOOSH! A thruster enhanced kick sent it tumbling. Andrew walked to it slowly. The construct got to its knees before Andrew's foot came down in a powerful axe kick. It's head bounced off the floor with a sickening slam.
This time it didn't try to stand up, instead it went for his legs. The Spartan toppled over. In the struggle to break free he managed to boot his shadow in the head a few times. They were nothing more than rabbit kicks to him. To the construct they were enough to let the Spartan go and assume a defensive stance. Andrew fired his thrusters sliding back three meters, just enough for him to get back up unimpeded. He moved forward, his guard high, Andrew was on the offensive again. He fired shot after shot as soon as he was in striking range. Left jab, right cross, left elbow, spin, right elbow. The last strike came down heavy. Unfortunately for the Spartan the construct ducked, allowing Andrew to roll over its back. 'Tricky little fucker. Then again, I can't expect much less from myself.' He was right, the truth behind the Shadow Box sim was that it took combat data from a Spartan's neural link and used it to create a near perfect copy. 'The second knife. It hasn't copied that yet. Let's get this party rolling.' Andrew yanked the new knife from its sheath, slashing wildly in the act. At the zenith of his arm's arc he flicked the knife around, its blade now under his little finger. Another, more controlled swipe. Flick, swipe again, stab. Andrew's movements with the weapon were oddly graceful, it almost seemed like a dance. His feet shifted as his arm swung outwards. His breaths paced to the timing of his strikes. His partner dipped, ducked and wove to Andrew's rhythm. That was until he pulled the second knife.
Andrew's arm came around in a right hook that forced the construct backwards. The Spartan took advantage and pulled the other knife from the left side of his chestplate. Just as the shadow leaned forwards once more Andrew thrust the left-handed knife into its throat. Rather, he would have, had the construct not faded away. Andrew stumbled a meter as he tried to stop his momentum. "Mother fucker! What the hell?!" He knew that the base's AI cut the sim short. "Spartan G199, you are needed in briefing immediately." Andrew brushed the order off. "You could've warned me before you cut the sim." The AI paused, something the seasoned Spartan found unnerving. "I'll try to remember that." Definitely more than unnerving.
Definitely not the strongest chapter thus far. A little short compared to others too. The next one will have much more content and will delve a little further into the M rating the story holds.
