Author's Note: If you have any tips writing tips, please feel free to review and tell me.
I gratefully accept constructive criticism as a means to help me develop my skills further as a writer.
WARNING: This story contains some MATURE LANGUAGE
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN MEDAL OF HONOR OR HALO
ALL OC'S ARE MINE
Chapter 10: Reassigned to Onyx
Location: Aboard the UNSC Point of No Return- location classified
November 29, 2531
0600 hours
Matt sat cross-legged with his eyes closed on the the floor of His quarters. He had arrived on the UNSC Point of No Return a few weeks ago, but he was never told why he was here. He was practicing zen as he usually did most of the time whenever he had spare time or if he wasn't on a mission. Suddenly, he saw something. He saw the same nightmare he'd been having since he was 6 years old. He snapped his eyes open, gasped and leaned back against the bunk behind him, breathing heavily. He had sweat dripping down his face.
"What the hell? Why do I keep seeing that same fucking nightmare over and over again?" he thought. He sat there for a few minutes before getting up and going to the refreshers a few meters down the corridor. Once there, he pushed the tap on the sink and water came out. He took his hands snd cupped them together, put them under the water spray, then splashed water on his face. He stared back at his bleary eyed and tired face for a few minutes as water droplets fell from his face. He then took a towel off of a nearby towel rack and dried his face off, shut the water off and returned to his sat on his bunk with his face between his legs. He sat there for what felt like hours until he heard a knock on the door.
"Come on'" he said.
The door opened to reveal a balding man dressed in an UNSC Army uniform. The man wore the eagle insignia of a Colonel. His dark eyes were trained straight on Matt.
"Sir!" Matt stood and saluted.
"At ease, soldier," the Colonel said.
Matt frowned. He started to open his mouth to correct the Colonel's error, but he closed it and fell silent. Navel NCOs were never called "soldiers," but in Matt's experience, officers, Army or otherwise, never appreciated correction unless their lives were at stake.
The Colonel's continued stare started to make Matt feel uncomfortable and uneasy. Also, a few things were contributing to the unease he felt. He was on a UNSC ship, but he didn't know why he was on the ship, and why was an Army colonel interested in him?
"I am James Ackerson," the Colonel said. He then did a strange thing: he held out his hand, indicating that Matt should shake it.
This was a rare occurrence. Usually no one wanted to touch a Spartan, let alone shake their hand.
Matt took Ackerson's hand and gently squeezed it.
Ackerson. Matt knew that name. There had been conversations between Dr. Halsey and Chief Mendez. Ackerson's name had come up a dozen times, and from their influence and body language Matt had concluded that he was not their friend.
Matt was aware that everyone in the UNSC has the same basic goal: protecting humanity from all threats. Not everyone, however, agreed on how that mandate should be excuted... which led to internal conflict. Matt understood this the way he understood basic precepts of a Shaw-Fujikawa translight engine. He grasped the underlying theoretical principles, but the nuances and the actual application of that knowledge remained a mystery to him.
Most likely this colonel was on permanent loan to ONI as a liaison officer. They often recruited civilians, officers from other branches of the military, or anyone they needed to get their job done.
An Army colonel was approximately the same rank as a navy captain, so while Matt was wary, he had to be polite, and even take orders from Ackerson as long as they did not conflict with previous orders.
"If you are well enough, follow me." Colonel Ackerson turned and tarted walking towards the door. ,att followed right behind him.
"SPARTAN-038, what is your name?" Ackerson asked.
Matt, sir."
"Yes, but Matt what? What is your family name?"
Matt knew he had another name, before his training. That, however, was part of a life that seemed more dream than real life. And that other name was just a shadow in his mind, as was the family that had gone along with it. Still, he struggled to remember.
"I don't remember my last name, sir," he said.
"It doesn't matter," Ackerson said. "For the time being if asked, use the last name..." He considered for a moment. "Armstrong."
"Yes sir."
"Follow me." Ackerson said as he moved out the open door into a narrow corridor. He led Matt through three intersections.
Many Navel officers passed the, but none saluted. The kept to themselves for the most part, eyes down. And while a few nodded to Matt, no one so much as glanced at Ackerson.
Matt's unease at this odd situation grew palpable.
They halted at a pressure door guys rede by two marines who saluted. Matt crisply returned their salute. Ackerson only gave them a half-salute gesture.
The Colonek set his hand on a biometric reader and face, retina, and palm were simultaneously scanned.
With a hiss, the door opened.
Matt and Ackerson stepped into a dimly lit twenty-meter-wide room filled wall to wall with monitors. Spectroscopic signatures, star charts, and Slipstream space pulses strobed across the screens. There were several officers and two holographic AIs consulting with them in whispered tones.
One gray AI was a gray-robbed figure without a body. A wraith.
The other was a collection of disembodied eyes, mouths, and gesturing hands-what Matt vaguely recalled from one of Deja's art lessons as an example of cubist art.
Ackerson whisked him across the room and to another door. A second biometric scan, and they entered an elevator.
There was a downward motion, then a moment of zero-gee free fall, and the sensation of gravity then returned. The doors opened to a catwalk that extended over the inky darkness to a blank wall.
The Colonel approached the blank wall, a seam appeared, and then the two sections pulled apart.
"This room is called 'Odin's Eye' by the junior staff," Ackerson said. "You have been temporary granted a code-word top secret clearance to enter. Whatever is said inside is similarly classified and you will reveal none of our conversations unless the proper code words are provided. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Matt replied.
Matt's instinct, however, was to not enter this room. He, in fact, wanted to be any place but in this room. But he couldn't refuse.
They entered.
The doors closed behind them; Matt didn't see the seam. S
Thr room had white concave walls, and Matt's eyes had hard time focusing.
"Youe classification code word is 'Viper Six,'" Ackerson said. "Now, speak freely in here. I certainly will." He gestured to a black circular table in the center of the room and they both sat.
"Sir, where am I? Why am I here?
"Of course," Ackerson murmured. "You were brought here without any reason you are on this ship in the first place."
"My team leader," Matt said, "is he-"
"Fine," Ackerson replied. "He's in the infirmary. We had to... go to considerable lengths to extricate him from normal NavSpecWep operations. We made sure his T-pack malfunctioned, and then we brought him onboard this sip and treated him for injuries."
Matt breathed out a sigh of relief upon hearing that Kurt was alive and well.
Something changed in the Colonel's expression. The dark stare and hardness softened almost an imperceptible face.
In a lowered voice, Ackerson said, "Sextion Three has issued you new orders." He push a reader across the table to Matt.
Matt thumbed the biometric and the screen warmed. There were code word classified warnings and then he saw his transfer orders under Colonel Ackerson. The usual fields for assignment location, routing protocols, and record verification were reduced.
"You are now a part of a subsection of Beta-5 division," Ackerson said, "a top-secret cell within Section Three."
Now it all made sense why he was here. He was being assigned a new mission, but what was the mission?
"Even though you didn't have a malfunctioning T-pack like your team leader," Ackerson said, "you have been classified as reassigned."
Matt felt something was wrong about this whole 'reassignment'.
"What's this new mission, sir?"
Ackerson stared at him for a moment,then seemed to look through Matt, past him. "I want you to help train the next generation of Spartans."
Matt blinked, taking in what Ackerson had just said, to quite understanding. "Sir, I was under the impression that Chief Petty Officer Menedz had been reassigned years ago to carry out that mission."
"The effort to train additional SPARTAN-IIs was postponed indefinitely by Dr. Catherine Halsey," said Ackerson. "There were other candidates within the gene pool, but they were out of sync with her age restriction protocols. And with the continuing war, her program funds... diverted."
Matt had always assumed other Spartans were being trained, that he and his fellow Spartan IIs were the first in what would be the first line of Spartans. He'd never considered they might be the first, and the last, of their kind.
Ackerson said, "Menedz will of course, join you. Along with with yout team leader on the Delphi recon mission, SPARTAN-051."
"It would be an honor to serve under Chief Mendez," Matt replied.
One of Ackerson's eyebrows quirked up. "Indeed."
He motioned at Matt's secure tablet. "Read. New training protocols have been outlined as well as an improved augmentation regime. We've learned much from the unfortunate medical processes Dr. Halsey had at her disposal."
Matt balled his hands into fists, remembering in the pain of the bone grafts-like glass breaking inside his marrow, and the fire that had burned along every nerve as they had been reengineered for enhanced speed.
As he read he started to grasp the opportunities and challenges of this new program. The new bioaugmentations were a quantum leap ahead of those he and the other Spartan IIs had received. There were less projected wash-out rates. There was, however, only a fraction of the original SPARTAN program training time and budget. MJLONIR armor was to be replaced with something called Semi-Powered Infilration (SPI) armor systems.
"With this new SPI armor and these new candidates," Matt said, "your trying to to do more with less and your going to be using this armor made of special photoreactive panels and have these new Spartans take a high-risk stealth ops?"
Ackerson nodded. "They'll be sent on missions with higher strategic value but correspondingly lower survival probabilities. That's where you come in Matt. We need you training as a Spartan, and all of your field experience passed along to these candidates. You need to make these Spartans better and train them faster. This program may be the key to our survival in the war."
"I know I'll be helping SPARTAN-051 and Chief Menedz train these new Spartans," Matt said, "but is there anything specific I'm supposed to train these new Spartans, sir?"
"Actually, yes there is," Ackerson replied. "Some candidates may be taken out of the normal training regime and trained specifically in a certain area. That is where you come in, Matt. In addition to train g these new Spartans, your job is to take candidates you think that would be good in a certain area and teach them. These candidates you choose will not wear SPI armor, they'll wear MJLONIR armor."
Matt nodded. "Yes sir. I understand."
"Good," Ackerson replied.
Matt scanned the reader again. The new generic selection protocol expanded the pool of candidates, but there were disturbing references to behavior problems in these less-than-ideal potential Spartans.
But this mission was vital to the war, Matt sensed that. Snd there would be CPO Menedz and Kurt. It would be good to be working under his old teacher again, as well as, under his close friend. Could three of of really train a new generation of Spartans?
"In ten years," Ackerson said, "with your guidence and a little luck, there will be a hundred new Spartans in the war. Employing several of these new Spartans to help train the next classes, there will be thousands in twenty years. With projected improvements in technology, perhaps a hundred thousand new Spartans will be created in thirty years."
A hundred thousand Spartans fighting for humanity? The image swam through Matt's mind. Was this even possible?
While Matt didn't understand all the training ramifications, he now understood the importance of the end result. His initial of unease, however, remained. How many of the new Spartans were going to die? He steeled himself. He'd do everything he could to see that they had the best training, the best equipment, be the best soldiers humanity had ever produced. Even then, though, would it be enough?
He took a deep breath. "When do we begin, sir?"
Ackerson said, "New training facilities are being constructed. You will help oversee the operation, along with SPARTAN-051, when he out of the infirmity. Also, you will begin screening candidates that you would like to personally train. I have an ample supply of willing recruits for you." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny box, pushed it across the table to Matt. "One last thing."
Matt opened the box. Inside were the single silver bar insignia of a lieutenant junior grade.
"These are yours now." A faint crease of a smile appeared in Ackerson's face. "I not going to have my second right hand man taking orders from NCO drill instructors. Your going to be second in charge of the whole show."
"Sir, who will be your first right hand man?"
"SPARTAN-051 will. Even though you both will have the same rank, he will oversee the entire operation."
"Yes sir," he replied.
"Good," Ackerson said. "You have a lot of work to do lieutenant. You best get to it."
"Yes sir, I will," Matt said as he got up and left the room to start his new assignment.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Did you love that chapter!? I hope you did! Show your support for the author by simply clicking the little FAVORITE button to the top right of your screen! Have a wonderful day!
Follows and Favorites and Reviews/Feedback most enthusiastically welcome!
If you like the story then please share, like, favorite, and comment on the story.
Thanks and have a great day!
-general ML