Chapter Nine: Departure
7th July, 2533 (UNSC Calendar)
Ninth Age of Reclamation, 8th Solar Cycle (Covenant Calendar)
Eayn, Y'Deio System
Running and jumping, sparring and shooting. Crawling among rocks and dirt while under live plasma fire. Quick marching and jogging with heavy loads for miles. Learning and knowing your weapon; firing it, loading it, cleaning it, taking it apart, checking it, then loading and firing it again. Fights in the arena at Vara. Constant tests of the body and mind.
Then beatings. Many, many beatings - for even the smallest mistake.
Such is the nature of intensified training.
The pressure was on our instructors to meet the new Sangheili deadline, just three weeks away. As such, they made painfully sure we felt the pressure too.
It was only many years afterward that I learned that it was literally their lives on the line. On the night when Champion Xen had announced the training cuts, he had received a transmitted order from the Field Master of the Kr'evan Legion - the unit to which we would be assigned.
This order also bore the seal and signatures of the Council of Masters. It made clear that the Sangheili would be closely inspecting the quality of this year's crop of replacements - and that Xen and the Majors would face execution if they failed to obey the new training directive.
Needless to say, it was enough to motivate them.
Any dissent in the camp about the reduced training time was silenced. As I would see many times during the war, the ruthlessness and cruelty of the Sangheili trickled down to our level - our instructors became even more brutal than before.
Three weeks is a dangerously short time to train decent soldiers, to be sure. However, if your drill instructors do their damndest to make those three weeks count, it can seem like the longest time of your whole life.
So it was for our last three weeks at the Vara training grounds - all the previous weeks seemed like nothing by comparison. Every day involved 12 hours of training, sometimes more.
It won't surprise you that I like talking about those final weeks even less. But I'll try to summarise.
There were new introductions in those three weeks - in the last of those three, we finally received our military armour. Upon seeing the grey-coloured plates of a T'Vaoan Minor, assembled in the case given to each of us one morning as we of the 4th Training Lance stood to attention in our dormitory, I knew I had reached a turning point.
Once he issued out our armour, Major Nix ordered us to practice donning it. We had to have ourselves fully kitted out in less than thirty seconds. Most of us failed to do it in time on the first try - myself included.
As a result, we all got a whack with a bu-vao stave - a minor collective punishment. Nix and his Minors made sure that were all hit hard - I felt the sting of that blow, like it was my first bullet.
More blows followed, which I would end up feeling for days.
"Assemble Armour!"
I struggled to get my gauntlets on, trying to find the correct place that they would click in...
Thwack!
"Too slow! Again!"
We tried again. In my haste, I dropped my chest plate, which clattered to the floor.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
"FUCKING MORON! Damaging your kit already?! Pick it up, start again; STOP FUCKING AROUND!"
I ignored the pain; I could only focus on assembling my armour, nothing else. Soon the action became routine and fluid. Slowly, as we picked up the pace, we stopped making mistakes. The beatings petered out.
Yet the bruises and sores still remained. I still remember the pain of that night.
I was not alone. Every recruit in the 4th training lance had been heavily beaten at some point. In the course of those three weeks, many of my comrades stained the beds we slept in purple with their blood.
For hours Nix would order us to take the armour off, disassemble it, then put it on again. We did this for over half the day - in the military, we had to be constantly ready for when the call to battle came. Out in the field though, Nix advised us to sleep in our armour.
"If I catch you without armour at battle stations," he growled as we struggled on with our battledress, "you will receive the beating of your life. If the Sangheili catch you unprepared for battle, they will end your life - and I won't be able to save you."
We all took in his advice soberly as we drilled again and again, that morning and the several after.
Soon enough, the repetition began to effect, as it did with weapons training; assemble, disassemble, re-assemble. Anything will become second-nature when you do it often enough; while we only had a few days left, we made best use of the time.
The armour pieces slotted together with satisfying clicks; it all felt comfortably light and flexible when worn over the skinsuit.
The combat armour of a T'Vaoan Minor is very basic - it is not fitted with energy shielding, a helmet or a heads-up display. It does, however, contain an environmental adjustment unit, which provides heating in a cold climate and cooling in a hot one. Useful to have.
Sangheili combat armour contains a similar system, though theirs was more up-to-date and less prone to faults than our own. Ribib, our Unggoy Deacon-Quartermaster, warned us about dialling up our heating units to maximum temperature for too long. Major Nix and our instructing Minors told us of the burns they'd suffered on their bodies while sleeping, due to overheated environment systems. Once again, our Covenant proved to be anything but equal.
Another feature of our armour was that it was not only made to be light, but also contained integrated internal circuitry and fluid links, which enabled a T'Vaoan to run at our kind's full speed - and more - while wearing it. So at least it was properly tailored to our needs.
As for whether our armour would last long against Human high-calibre bullets - I decided not to think about that.
Commando and Murmillo armour had more advanced features, some of which were reportedly being updated or newly added. That kind of armour, however, was out of my reach right now. I would make do with what I had.
We practiced running in our new battledress - sure enough, we found that we were able to run at natural speed and more. Those systems were well-engineered - evidently, the Ministry of Preparation recognised our value as fast light infantry. That improved our morale somewhat. After weeks of training, we now felt like soldiers. Not hardened veterans - but we were ready for the next challenge that awaited us.
In spite of it all, we all made it to the end of those three weeks. We suffered no more fatalities in that time - just long-term bruises. We all felt proud when we reached the last day of it all - the day before our departure to the Kr'evan Legion.
That day, we gathered in the Vara town arena for a final sparring match. Every recruit was ordered to face each other, one-on-one, hand-to-hand, in a final test of strength.
In other words, I had fight every other recruit at least once - and the same was true of everyone else. We were not to go easy on one another - anyone who was caught doing so would receive three-dozen lashes with a bu-vao stave.
Needless to say, it was a painful experience. Especially when I had to fight Par - he did not go easy on me, and I did the same for him. Otherwise, it would be three dozen for us both.
Par beat me, of course - he was always larger, stronger and much better at close hand-to-hand combat than I was. Still, I lasted much longer than any of the Majors had originally estimated, which I was proud of. Added to the fact that I had beaten quite a few other recruits (including Kreth and Vek) in spite of getting a constant, solid battering throughout - well, my ego was much less bruised than my body.
I was just glad that it was our last physical exercise - it's not something I care to look back on in detail.
Once the sparring was over in the early afternoon, the Majors gathered us all in the arena, rank and file.
I quickly fell into place, ignoring the sting of the cuts and bruises all over my body. Then there was that same fucking dust from the training grounds that also made up the arena floor - it got into my wounds and they stung even more.
Still, I stood straight and silent. A month and a half ago, I would have whinged and whined like any other civilian - but now I was a trained warrior, silent, straight and uncomplaining.
I felt proud of that.
Champion Xen was there, as ever, addressing us from a special viewing balcony that overlooked the ancient coliseum. In the past, that would have been reserved for wealthy matriarchs or shipmistresses - now it served as a suitable podium for our commander.
As ever, he made a good speech. As soon as we were all assembled, he rose to the podium and began.
"You have all passed our test, warriors of the Vara Grounds. That is what I will call you from now on - not recruits, not initiates - warriors. You have survived what many of your fellows have not. Accomplished what they could not. And while you leave these training grounds, they will not."
He allowed a moment of silence for us all to think on that. I saw Hoth in my mind, and all those others who hadn't made it. Some of them might have had no chance of success to begin with, but there were others who by all rights should have survived - Hoth being one.
Still, the dead would stay dead. No amount of regret or 'what-iffing' would change that.
Nor was there any point in asking why I had survived when stronger men had not. I was alive now, standing here. The hell that was our training was behind me now. That was all that mattered.
"When you board the ships tomorrow morning, you will do so as Warriors of our Covenant. As warriors, you shall face new challenges. But you will be ready to meet those challenges when they come. Rest easy with that knowledge tonight."
Xen then nodded to Nix, who gave the closing announcement.
"You have all earned this moment, soldiers. Above all, you have earned our trust. We would trust you - all of you - with our lives in battle, as you would trust us. That is why, I am glad to say, the Sangheili have agreed to a concession."
We all perked up.
"We will be accompanying you to the Kr'evan Legion. I will lead my lance into battle, as will the other Majors of Vara. Champion Xen will serve as the commander of K'revan's T'Vaoan contingent. Healer Gakh and Deacon Ribib will also be accompanying us. The incumbent commander and his Majors will return to Vara as we depart, to train the next season of recruits."
This was a pleasant surprise. Brutal as the Majors were with us, we did respect them. They had taught us much - we were soldiers because of them.
However much I might have cursed him during the training, I had nothing but respect for Nix - he trained me even after trying to talk me out of signing up. Even after learning of my father's death, which had so obviously affected him.
The brutality he had shown us during training was, I reasoned, something that would ultimately prove necessary. If the war was as bad as I'd heard, we all needed to be hardened. The training did have its intended effect, I would find - but in many more ways than I'd probably imagined.
The point is that we would not have so easily followed superiors whom we didn't know, whom we hadn't trained with. That isn't to say we wouldn't have obeyed their orders - any disobedience had been thoroughly beaten out of us. But soldiers are more likely to follow someone who has already proved to be strong, skilled and decisive - Nix, Krel, Xen and all the other instructors had proved that in spades. We knew we could trust them.
As it turned out, Nix had another good piece of news.
"For now, enjoy this night; you are getting another reward." He paused as Krel brought forward a box, clattering with what sounded like credit chips.
Nix then gave us all a broad grin - not one of sadism, smugness or cruelty, like we'd seen so many times before. This time, it was a grin of pride. Of respect. Of comradeship.
"Consider this afternoon and evening to be your half-day of allotted leave. Tomorrow our Assault Carrier will arrive - but that will be some time, so..." Krel let the box of credit chips to the ground with a joyful clatter, "enjoy the time while it lasts! You're being issued your first military credit chips - 10,000 getz on each. Use them well! The day's still young!"
We all let out a roar of approval, eagerly queuing up for our chips. Par and I got ours together; he was grinning too, like I'd never seen before.
"Thank fucking Chu'ot!" Par cackled like a madman, slapping me hard on the shoulder. I felt it - but after all those beatings from Nix and the others, it felt like nothing. "I'm hitting the taverns - you can join me if you like."
"Though you'd never ask."
It was all so infectious. We'd survived. We'd won our first battle, if you could call it that. But we were still alive, after others had died - that was worth celebrating.
The whole 4th Training Lance - hell, the whole Vara training grounds - hit the Vara Grand Tavern that afternoon and needless to say, we had the most outrageous piss-up imaginable. Kig-Yar beer isn't that different from the alcohol of other races - it is strong, intoxicating and joyfully addictive.
Of course, most of what we had was beer manufactured from that Irukan crap the Sangheili made our people grow - but just for that night, we couldn't have cared less about the four-jawed arseholes, about what they did to us or what they thought of us. They'd cut our training, made it even harder - we'd replied by getting through it alive.
We were sticking it to them tonight. We'd show them what we could do soon. To make a point, we made sure to have plenty of our own local ale. Besides the training grounds and gladiator arena, the Vara region is well known for its traditional ales and beers - we downed all sorts that night.
I still can't remember how many beers I had. We were all gathered in our service armour, polished up and standing out among the civilians in the tavern. Needless to say, many of the Ruuhtian patrons and bartenders gaped at the sight of armoured T'Vaoans crowding into their midst.
They made sure to give us a wide berth, and the tavern-owners didn't complain. We were a crowd of well-paying customers - plus, it was never a good idea to say no to a rowdy group of soldiers looking for a good night out.
It's true - we servicemen tend to have it our way in these establishments. People who are trained to kill are not people you want to piss off in a pub.
So it was that I was downing what I think was my fourth pint, with Par proudly displaying the Etching of Initiation on his shoulder pauldron - the mark that all newly trained and graduated warriors to the Covenant Military have engraved on their armour.
We'd all got an etching each on our armour, just before heading to the Tavern.
"You see that! You fucking see that you four-jaw fuckers!" He was standing, bold as brass on the tavern counter and showing off the fine, silver-coloured etching off to everyone, yelling drunkenly at Sangheili that were not there to respond. "We beat your new pussy-ass timetable!"
"Yeah!" Yelled everyone present, myself included, whooping it up. It's true, insulting and slurring the Sangheili was our favourite past-time that evening. That and getting pissed beyond recognition. It's not like they were there to stop us.
We were all swearing like it was out of fashion, too. You may have noticed our language has been getting fouler by the day - that's another part of becoming a soldier.
In the Covenant Army, we see all sorts of things - right from the moment of our training - that we can only describe properly as "shit!". We get beaten, see comrades die even in training - so as our surroundings become fouler, it's no wonder our language follows suit.
"Morning arseholes" and "right, you little fuckers" had become the standard day's greetings. "Arse-kicking" had become a regular thing, both from the beatings we'd been given, in our training and even as a past-time. Right that moment, a few other graduated recruits were having friendly "arse-kicking" matches in several places throughout the bar.
"We all passed," declared Par, raising his glass, "All of us." Then he smirked down it me. "Even our cute little nestling here."
That was another word that got thrown at me a lot, when people didn't use my name. It pissed me off to no end. Sure, I was the youngest recruit of this season, but even so...it was so annoying.
All the others laughed it up, as I began to retort as best as any stone drunk man can.
"What do you mean even?" I slurred the words out, loud as I could. "I'm a fucking irs-van...I out-shot all of you on the firing range...even...even ye..." I struggled through another inebriated breath, took another swill of my beer, then slammed down my beer-mug onto the counter. "...even...even you, you fucking muscle-head bastard!"
My reply was met by a resounding "oooohhhh!" of anticipation, expected a punch or talon-slash in response to my insult. But Par just laughed.
"Says the little shit who I nearly decked on the ship to this place!" Everyone laughed their arses off - the tavern was deafening in that moment.
"Oh fuck off..." I took my glass, then threw a good part of what was left of the beer onto Par's pauldron. It splashed over the Etching of Initiation giving it a proper, perfectly-targeted christening. It got some of his head-feathers too.
For a moment there was silence. If this had been when Par and I first met on that Phantom, three months ago, there would have been a fight.
Instead, Par responded by pouring out his own beer down from where he stood right onto my own etching. The cool froth splashed onto my pauldron, drenching the feathers around my head as well - now the initiation was complete and we were both christened.
Then he grinned again.
"Now we're both even!"
Everyone let out another great cheer, whooping it up again. Then Salz, who'd been laughing his arse off the whole way, jumped onto the counter with Par, clapping an arm on his shoulder and yelling at the top of his lungs.
"Here's one for everyone!" He then poured his beer onto himself, smothering his own etching, repeating the christening.
Soon enough, everyone was whooping it up, christening and splashing their pauldrons with cold beer. It was a night to remember. Guys gave each other friendly punches, climbed onto each other's backs - it was high spirits gone mad.
Even Kreth got in on the act - I'd never taken him for a heavy drinker. Yet there he was in the middle of it all, drenching his pauldron and glugging it all down as several others around him chanted the lance zealot on to swallow it all.
He did so, roaring in triumph at finishing another round. The others roared with him, ordering yet more pints.
Par jumped down from the counter, got us both another round from the long-suffering bar-tender, and raised his glass.
"Here's to Vara!" I yelled.
We clinked our glasses.
"Here's to the Kr'evan Legion!" Par yelled.
We clinked again, our beers sloshing and spilling.
"And here's to fucking being alive!"
We both yelled together at the same time, clinking our glasses once more. We both downed our pints, then butted heads like the best friends we now were, whooping it up.
Then Vek - another best friend of mine - joined us, clutching his own full pint.
"You're all insane." He was shaking his head in disbelief.
Par smirked.
"I'll drink to that."
We three clinked our glasses once more, downing more of the good stuff.
Amidst all the drinking, the swearing, the good times - I noticed someone else.
Someone who was sitting at a table some way off from the counter, away from the newly christened warriors of Vara. Like us, however, she wore the armour of a T'Vaoan Minor.
Yes, it was a she. I hadn't seen any women in any of the training lances - hell, I hadn't interacted with a woman full stop; not since the confrontation with Chur'R-Fac.
This girl was much younger and prettier, of course - but it was the armour she wore that caught my eye.
Though Kig-Yar of both genders served in the Covenant military, it was very rare to see the females of our species serving as front-line infantry. Such a dangerous occupation was labelled as being beneath women in our society - I remembered well Chur'R Fac's high-nosed contempt for the path my father and I chose. In our culture, girls were brought up with far greater expectations; men were much better used as basic cannon fodder.
Most women would apply to the navigation colleges and space-faring guilds, becoming officers on our spacecraft - there they could get contracts with the fleets of the Ministry of Tranquility or Resolution. If you were born a woman among my people, you had a much better chance of commanding a ship, a privateer flotilla or even an entire mercenary guild some day. Not so much if you were a useless, pathetic man like me.
So why did this girl join the army with us? Surely there were better things for her to do. There was only one way I could find out.
I excused myself to Par and Vek; they both gave me knowing grins as they saw just who it was I was going over to speak to.
For a moment she didn't notice me - or at least, she didn't look up from her drink. I took the time to enjoy the view as I approached.
She had a slender, streamlined frame - and such smooth skin beneath her feathers. Smoother than most people I'd seen. Her feathers were a silky black, just as smooth - that included the ruff of feathers around her neck that all women born of T'Vao have. It wasn't just her natural feather colour that made her beautiful - she also had two silver streaks dyed on her plumage, one on each side of her head. Her body projected a strong, enticing aroma that filled my nostrils, that I just could not turn away from.
Then she turned her head towards mine - and I looked into her eyes for the first time.
They were a deep, mysterious brown - a rare genetic trait among our people.
I was lost in those eyes - like black holes they drew me in. I felt like we were the only two people there that night, as I felt my soul captured by her powers of attraction...
"I said, what do you want? Why are you staring at me?"
I blinked, totally unaware that she'd spoken the first time. Had I drifted off that much?
Idiot...don't mess this up!
"I..." I tried to find my tongue as she tilted her head, looking at me like I was a total idiot. I'd never been that good with the opposite sex. "I...see you're in the army too."
"Did the armour give it away? Yes - I'm in the army too."
She then turned back to her drink. I felt so stupid; she knows it too. I shrank back, trying to make myself scarce and get back to the guys - when I heard her voice again.
"Are you with the Kr'evan Legion?"
She's still talking to me - still got a chance. "Yes - we just graduated from Vara. We're shipping out to them tomorrow."
She smiled. "I'm with Kr'evan too. I've been with them for two years now. Just enjoying my little bit of shore leave."
She must have joined up at roughly my age, then. She only looked a couple of years older than me. I sat down on the chair opposite her - she seemed fine with that.
"They're a good unit; if you can stay on the right side of the Sangheili."
I gulped.
"Is that easy to do?"
"Depends - some of their officers are more reasonable than others. Or, some are less bastards than the others, depending on your point of view." She took another sip of her pint, then looked directly at me. "You don't want to cross the Field Master though. I've heard you and your friends singing and mouthing off tonight; if you want to live, you'll keep your mouths shut about the four-jaws when you get aboard the Steadfast Pilgrim."
That had to be the Assault Carrier our Legion was based on.
"That's our ship?" I slurred out.
"No, I speak of my mother's raider," she let out a giggle. "You're drunk, so I'll forgive you. You'll know your new home when you see it tomorrow."
"Is it already here?"
She nodded, still giggling.
"If it wasn't I wouldn't be here, would I? The Pilgrim docked at Dal'Koth just this morning. They're here for you, don't worry. But the rest of us already assigned aboard get a welcome break."
I took another look at her grey armour. "You're still a Minor?"
She let out another giggling laugh.
"You have to survive another few years of combat before the four-jaws even think of promoting you to the red. But just so we're clear," she leaned in close, "I'm a veteran. You're a new recruit. Who do you think is going to be in charge, out there, under enemy fire?"
I guess she had a point. "You."
"That's right. And you'll follow my orders out there, if you want to live. Glad we understand each other."
She got up from her seat.
"I've got to run," she said distractedly, stowing her purse into a pocket in her belt. Then she turned back at me with a sly smile, "but I'm sure we'll see each other again."
I was lost in the view of her face, with its sultry look. The view as she turned her back and walked away was even better. Then I remembered something, and just managed to voice it over the beer.
"Wait...you...didn't...your name..."
She looked back at me one last time, still smiling in silent amusement.
"Elln."
Then she walked out of the twin doors.
That rest of the evening passed me by. That tells you all you need to know about how much I drank that night.
It was such a fine summer's day. It's so hard to imagine what happened that day happening under such a beautiful, clear blue sky.
My grandmother was tending our gardens, set all around our house in the Wetlands of Ream. She was bent over the roots of the flowering vines with her finely-crafted watering can. I was out there helping her - being a good grandson, I was pulling up the weeds.
I was so engrossed in the task that I did not hear the engines of the hover-car until the very last moment, when it pulled up in front of our house, just a few steps from where I was.
I looked up from the weeds I had been attacking. I remember the hover-car vividly - quite a sleek, expensive model. The sort you can afford with a good salary.
My grandmother had joined me now, her thin summer shawl flapping gracefully behind her as she was huffing.
"What could this be about? It better not be Chur'R-Fac."
Out stepped an armoured soldier, a Commando - I knew he was so. His armour was the same fine forest-green as my father's.
He strode up to us. He was young - I'd say in his late twenties. Younger than my father, to be sure. He spoke first as he joined us.
"Home-mother Nell Fac?" He then looked at me. "I assume this is your grandson, Trau?" His accent was clipped, very military-style.
"Can I help you young man?" My grandmother ventured gently.
For a moment he struggled to find the right words. If I had been in his position, I never would have managed to do so.
Can anyone ever really say the right thing?
He didn't need to say anything. Perhaps that was best. Instead, he turned solemnly back to his car. I heard the sound of him picking up something heavy.
When he turned back to us, I saw what it was.
A Commando helmet. But it wasn't his. It was my father's.
As he brought it to us, I saw all the scars he'd shown me in the past. All the little notes and artwork of good luck he'd drawn on it, that he'd shown off to me.
But I never remembered seeing the clean hole in the right side of his helmet.
The Commando handed the helmet to my grandmother. She took it with both hands, breathing slowly.
"I served with your son-in-law. I served with him from the start of this war." He paused. "We were on Harvest."
I remembered the broadcasts - the news of the first human world, where this all began.
"We were in the ruins of the capital city. They called it Utgard." He stopped again, lowering his head to compose himself. "The humans had taken much of it back. We were supporting a counter-offensive. It was hard fighting in that city - so many died. We were in the middle of an assault on a strong-point when..."
I looked at him now. His eyes met mine.
"He saved so many lives that day - and days before. Including mine. We just never saw it...we tried... we couldn't save him..."
My grandmother looked up at him from the helmet. I could see her eyes, searching for a reason...any reason, for what we were being told now.
"It was a DMR. One of their sharpshooters. I've seen them kill so many that way. Just one shot to the head and you're gone. He was gone the moment it hit him."
My grandmother just managed to speak. In her eyes, tears were forming.
"You...could do nothing?"
He nodded slowly, then turned to his car once more.
This time, he held my father...his body burned, poured into the urn now in his comrade's hands.
"He was my commander...my friend..." the man just managed to say those words.
At that moment, I realised that my eyes were...filling with water...this had never happened before.
It became too much. I collapsed to my knees, tears flowing, heaving with grief...
The man brought his head to mine.
"I'm so sorry..."
So he was. So was I that day.
But why should he ask for forgiveness? I didn't understand then. My father told me this might happen.
It happens.
So who can apologise for his death? Who can be blamed for it? My father died while this man, his comrade, remained. While I remained.
That was all there was too it.
Who decides such things?
I woke up in the barracks, the feeling of last night catching up with me.
I often dreamed about the moment I learned my father was killed-in-action. I still do, now and then.
I don't regard myself as being an emotional person. I have only ever cried a few, select times in my life - I can remember each time exactly.
That day when I received his ashes was the first time. There would be ever times to come in the course of my life, later in the war.
But I shall come to those in time.
Perhaps it was fitting that before I left to begin my war, I dreamt of how it ended for my father.
How it could end for me.
I shook off the memory of the dream. It would do me no good. I couldn't change the past. All I could do was try my best in the present and, hopefully, for the future.
Along with the other recruits of the 4th Training Lance, I suited up, slotting my armour into place. I took out the Type-51 Carbine from my bunk locker, cradling it lovingly as I did so. I was still the only irs-van in East Barracks to be equipped with the Carbine. I fixed it securely to the magnetic weapons strip on my back.
Packing what was left of my military belongings and kit into a leather bag we were all issued with, I turned to move with everyone else, as Major Nix marshalled us from our bunks.
Today was the day.
We were allowed a few drinks of water and pan-kar juice - ideal for hangovers. It took a while, but the ache in my head was gradually gone. There was still some time before the Sangheili carrier arrived - it was currently undocking from Dal'koth and heading into stationary orbit over Eayn. It would hang about right above Vara as we all got ready, to pick us up more quickly - the Sangheili didn't want to waste any time.
We would all know when it was ready to take us on. So we spent the rest of the time waiting for the Steadfast Pilgrim's arrival by sharpening our skills; target practice on the firing range, exercising in the gym, it all helped.
We kept our kit and weapons in a neat row of small piles on the courtyard - one small pile for each recruit - so it was ready for us to find it all and pick it up when the dropships arrived.
Then the announcement came - in the form of our Majors rushing about the training grounds, calling us to mobilize.
"Assemble in the courtyard! Gather your kit! The carrier's just arrived, its launched the Phantoms. They'll want to see us ready; move, move, MOVE!"
We'd been estimated to all be ready for departure in fifteen minutes. We did in eight.
Sure enough, I stood in the dusty courtyard once more; fully armoured and equipped, standing with my comrades in the 4th Training Lance.
No, no longer that. I dispensed with that name. Now, we were the 4th Lance of 2nd File, T'Vaoan Contingent of the Kr'evan Legion. I felt proud. We all did, all eight of us who remained, while four of our comrades did not.
I heard the Phantoms before I saw them. There were three, just as there had been when we'd all left Han City.
Three would still be enough this time - especially since there were fewer of us now.
We boarded - this time with no jostling, complaining or slowing down. We all boarded in time, silently, as one unit. We were disciplined. It took just a couple of minutes to get us ready for take-off.
The Majors, along with Gakh, Ribib, his two Huragok and Champion Xen would be following us in a fourth Phantom still due to arrive. The Minors who'd helped to train us would not be following though - they would stay for the next batch of fresh meat. We'd be joining the veterans already aboard the Assault Carrier.
Including Elln. I'll see her again...
"Hey nestling, what are you mooning about?"
I suddenly snapped out of it. It was Par, standing next to me secured in the Phantom's magnetic restraints, built into the walls. He was looking at me like I was a total idiot.
"What do you mean mooning? Why would I be mooning?"
"That's why I was asking."
"I wasn't mooning you..."
"Both of you, shut up." That was Shik. He was standing to the left of us both. "We all know what Trau's mooning about; we saw her at the pub last night."
That brought sniggers and cackling from all the other guys - especially Par. I was left to sulk. I wasn't going to start a row with my friends during space-flight. It's just not healthy.
Soon enough, the Phantom took off. I wasn't placed close to a port-hole this time; I would just have to picture where we were going in my mind.
Of course, I don't think there was any way I could truly see what lay ahead.
All I knew was that I would be with my first unit.
Then there would be the war.
