Chapter 14
0900 Hours, May 7, 2525(Military Calendar)/ Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex, planet Reach
The Naval Officer's Academy was a strange scene to most of the men, but to Simmons it was like a homecoming. He hadn't been to the famous Reach academy, but he was looking forward to it. The majority of the NCOs were bemused and took in the sights, while the privates just whistled and commented on the Navy's digs. Simmons walked up the stairs and was forced to block his eyes from the sun as he admired the scalloped dome of the main academy building. Doctor Halsey was leaning against one of the columns, conversing with an AI in a toga.
"Morning Doctor," Simmons called out.
"Good morning Lieutenant. I hope your men are enjoying themselves," she said with a smile.
"Men! Lets bring it in!"
"Thank you. Now gentlemen, let's begin." The Good Doctor ushered them with a wave to the medical building. Most of the men hadn't sat at a desk since grade school, and the sight of Dominique squished into a chair designed for twenty year old officer hopefuls was enough to make everyone laugh. "Today's class," the doctor began, "Is on battlefield medicine." A series of holographic diagrams were coming up, each suffering typical battlefield wounds, and the group was being herded by the same toga wearing AI. "This is Déja, and she'll be assisting us. Now, our first malady is a bullet wound to the abdomen from a 12.7mm round. Yes private?"
"What does all that mean ma'am?" a young member of the squad enquired.
"It means he got shot in the stomach. Now, who knows what to do first? No, not you corpsman. Anyone else? Yes, Corporal."
"Biofoam?" a Corporal timidly raised his hand.
"No, in ideal conditions, first you would remove the bullet. Good guess though. The round would be unlikely to penetrate very far, but since I doubt you have ever removed a bullet before, we'll practice that. Biofoam is next, then a field dressing. Now gather around the lab table here, and I'll show you." As she spoke, a hologram of a Sergeant with a 12.7mm pistol round in his pancreas appeared on her table. The doctor was about to begin when she was interrupted by a voice from the back.
"Shouldn't you wash you hands first, Doctor?" Simmons asked.
"Maybe you'd like to perform the operation, Lieutenant?"
"Sure thing Doctor." Simmons had failed his field medicine class back at Quantico, and was forced to take it again. He had run this particular simulation twelve times, and had received a one hundred percent on the last one. When he reached the 'body' he saw the Doctor had changed the program. The ribs were coated with some weird gel, and the vital signs were super charged. It was a simulated Spartan. It was a subtle difference, but Fiurah noticed. Simmons motioned this to Doctor Halsey, and she took the medic from the room.
"Déja, please supervise the class for a moment."
"Of course doctor. You may begin when ready Lieutenant."
Simmons successfully treated the simulated patient, and was glad to realize the program had given him a ninety three percent. That meant the Spartan oriented medicine would still work on normal Marines.
As the Doctor reentered, she checked the score. "That's almost an 'A' Lieutenant. Very good. Does anyone else want to try? Yes, very well corpsman." Within an hour everyone had performed the operation and everyone had passed. Dominique had nearly yanked the subject's intestines out with the bullet, but he managed a seventy percent. "Alright class. Same time next week. Corpsman, Lieutenant, could I see you for a moment in my office?"
"Yes ma'am?" Simmons asked. He thought the session had gone well, but he was ready for the good doctors 'not good enough'.
"Your men performed extremely well. I'm surprised. Now, corpsman, you noticed the program's alteration extremely fast. Where did you train?"
"Oxford, ma'am. First in class. It was kind of obvious, the vital signs gave it away," he replied with a smirk.
"Very well, thank you corpsman. That is all."
"Ma'am. Sir." And with that Fiurah left the building to catch up with the men.
"You hand picked him, didn't you ma'am?"
"He was in my class for a semester. Most of the professors said he was the best they'd seen in a while. I knew he'd come in handy, so I called in a favor. You're catching on Lieutenant. But that's not why I kept you here. Tomorrow there will be another exercise. You will support the Spartans in their attempt to infiltrate Bravo Company's perimeter and retrieve their flag. Your Pelican's will be delayed and you will be forced to spend the night in the woods surrounding Bravo Company's perimeter. Your and your men must insure the Spartan's safety and make sure that flag ends up on my wall here." She motioned toward the long wall of her office and it seemed her Spartans had managed to swipe at least one flag from every unit on Reach, and even a few on other planets. There was a space for Bravo Company's, so they were sure to be expecting this. "Now I don't pretend to be a tactician, but I think this would be a good opportunity for our two units to bond. I understand two man pickets are a viable strategy to spend the night…"
"Understood ma'am."
"I'll leave the pairings up to you. Thank you Lieutenant."
"Thank you ma'am."
1557 Hours, May 8, 2525(Military Calendar)/ Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex, Immediately outside Bravo Company's installation, planet Reach
Bravo Company was lucky to get a forest like this, three kilometers from their base. It was just close enough for everyday use, just far enough to make it a workout to get there. Simmons' men had spent the majority of the morning hiking to rendezvous point, and though the Sergeants had kept a good pace, the Spartans beat them there.
"Hi Lieutenant!" cried the nearest Spartan.
"Hi John. Hi Fred. How's the mission going?"
"Great. We've got Linda keeping an eye on the Bravo's and James is keeping the back door open. As soon as you guys are in place, we'll move out." John was clearly excited, but he was still the master of his men and his situation.
"Men! Secure this perimeter. Suppressive fire areas there and… there. Okay John, looks like we're all set up. You can go. If you're not back in three hours, we'll come in guns blazin'."
"I doubt we'll need it sir. Fred, Malcolm, Grace. Let's go!" In thirty seconds the Spartan team was out of sight. Simmons expected them to take an hour and a half, but they were at Simmons' feet panting with the flag in forty-three minutes.
"How in the name of…"
"Team (pant) secret (pant) sir." John clearly enjoyed the mystery surrounding his team, and Fred didn't seem to mind it either.
"Did you (pant) miss us sir?" Fred had the flag in his hands, and a cut on his face.
"Fiurah."
"Yes sir?"
"Fix this Spartan up corpsman. John, we're heading to the LZ in five."
It took them twenty minutes to reach the LZ, and surprise surprise, the Pelicans were late. O'Donnell's voice broke the expectant silence. "LT, the airfield just called. There's some kind of fuel distribution issue, so no Pelicans tonight." The men groaned, which seemed to have become their standard response to anything that happened on an exercise. Simmons looked to John to see if he was expecting it, but it seemed to be news to him. Odd that the Doctor would tell him, but not her Spartans. "Bravo's gonna be looking for us, and this open field is not the place we want to be. Back to the ridge we passed in the forest. We can keep an eye on their movements from there. Let's go!"
The hike was a short one, and remarkably uneventful. Simmons had just remembered the Doctor's suggestion of the pickets. He was thinking how to pair everyone up when he nearly hiked past the ridge and Dominique tapped him on the shoulder and said "Uh, LT, you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Now, we're gonna have to spend the night, so let's set up some pickets. Um…Linda, you're with Omni. Go to the best spot you can find and report on Bravo's progress every fifteen minutes. John, go with Dominique. You two are on point. Joshua, go with Fiurah. Make sure everyone's ok. Corporal McKay, meet Kelly. You two are going to be my runners tonight. O'Donnell, take Sam and take stock of our weapons. The rest of you Spartans, just mingle in the perimeter for now. Make a friend or two, we're gonna be here a while. Oh, and Fred, you're with me." The pairs set up their perimeters and Fred made his way over to his buddy for the night.
"Hi LT."
"Hi Fred. You seem like an observant guy, so I want you to keep your eyes open so I don't have to."
"Sure thing LT."
"Do you mind if I ask you some serious questions?"
"No sir, but I can't promise you I'll answer. CPO Mendez would kill me if I told you some of the stuff I know."
"Fair enough. Do you kids have official ranks?"
"I don't think so, but John's our squad leader. CPO Mendez just calls us 'Spartans' or 'Maggots' or 'Trainees'."
"Huh. So do you guys ever do normal kid stuff? "
"You mean like target practice?"
"No, like playing games and watching vids."
"We play all kinds of games with CPO Mendez, but we always lose, and somebody usually gets hurt. And Déja shows us all kinds of tactical vids in class every day."
"That's not what I meant but ok. Does Doctor Halsey usually teach you guys?"
"About half the time. She seems to go all over the place, but she never says where she's going. Sam says she's the President of the UNSC and she's got to go make big decisions, but I don't believe him."
"Hah. Now that's real kid behavior. Here's a serious question Fred. Do you like being a Spartan?"
"Yeah, its great. Doctor Halsey and CPO Mendez say were gonna defend the whole UNSC. We get to fight for the innocents everywhere, like…our…families." He stopped for a moment, and he resolved himself. "Sorry LT. I don't know what that was about. John and the guys are my family. I love being a Spartan sir, do you?"
"Do you kids consider me a Spartan?"
"James and Anton say you're not, but John and Kelly say you are. I think you're a Spartan who's just not on the team. Not that we don't want you, its just we're all the same age and stuff."
"I understand. Well, tell James and Anton no hard feelings. So is Linda your only sniper?"
"Oh, we can all snipe, but she gets the most practice and she's the best. We're all the best at something. John's the leader, Grace is great at explosives, Anton is a scout, Li's our zero gee guy. We're all specialists."
"What are you the best at?"
"I don't know…I guess I'm the best at being second best. I get second at everything. Every race, every range contest, everything."
"You sound like me during college. Except instead of a team always getting first, it was my friend Amacus. What was that?" A twig snapped two yards away. The nearest picket didn't hear it, but Simmons and Fred did.
"Just me LT." John's outline came into the dimming light at a crouch.
"What is it John?"
"Just wanted to report. Sergeant Dominique says the Bravo's are clueless, and I concur."
"Thanks John. Keep it up. McKay, Kelly. Go check on Omni and Linda. O'Donnell, Sam, report."
"Suppressive fields of fire are laid out. Oh, and we uh 'found' a couple extra sniper rifles. Those Bravo guys said they didn't need em anymore."
"You got some POW's?"
"Yeah, they're getting Fiurah to look at the boo boos they got when we found em. They'll be okay."
"LT, Bravos on the move. Two hundred meters to the left flank, three hundred meters distant. Request permission to open fire." Omni had assumed his cold, calculating demeanor he always had on a real mission.
"How many?"
"A patrol of fifteen, sir." Linda's voice was as cold, if not colder than Omni's.
"Can you hit em from there?"
"No problem," the two snipers answered in union.
"Open up on em."
A round fired from an SRS99C-S2 rifle will penetrate a human body with such force as to cause unbelievable damage to the entire corpse from a mile away. And corpse is the correct term, since by the time the round had done the majority of its harm, the victim is long dead. Luckily for the Bravo's, Linda and Omni were using the simulation gear.
1957 Hours, May 8, 2525(Military Calendar)/ Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex, Immediately outside the 89th Drop Jet Platoon's perimeter, planet Reach
"Where we going Lieutenant?" a tired Bravo Lance Corporal asked.
"Shut up. They're around here somewhere." Lieutenant Silva had been tasked with taking the 105th Drop Jet Platoon and reclaiming the flag. Silva was determined to complete his objective, since Captain O'Brien was a sore loser.
"Fan out. Keep quiet. Those freak kids aren't gonna win this time." The mark John had left on Silva's conscience was not going to go away any time soon. Just as Silva gave out his advice, a private's MILES gear started ringing.
"Oh, man!"
"Get down!"
Another private started buzzing before he could move, and by the time the men had regrouped, four soldiers were ringing and out of the fight. Then Silva noticed there was a grenade at his feet and he put his fingers in his ears. Instead of having his meat torn apart, he was treated to the incessant noise that was the 'dead' siren.
"You may want to turn that off Tony." Simmons stepped out from behind a tree with his MA5B pointed at the remaining 105th Marines. Behind Simmons were all the Spartans, and half of Simmons's men.
"Yeah, thanks Matt. What are you doing here?"
"Keeping you and your men from killing the Spartans and taking back the flag."
"Looks like you did a good job. If my platoon was as old as yours, we'd be a little better trained and we'd have got that flag back."
"That's pretty bold talk for a guy who can't find the off switch to his gear."
"Its good to see you again Matt."
"Good to see you too. Sadly, I'm afraid you're a corpse now, and those two are POW's. If you gentlemen will just walk this way…"
The captured Marines were kept in the center of the square with their hands bound, and, mercifully, their ringers turned off. Silva seemed pretty ticked, but he was happy to see an old friend again. Simmons remembered the episode on the Atlas and wanted to see if Silva was still mad.
"Fred, c'mere."
"Yeah LT?'
"I want you to interrogate the Lieutenant there and figure out what the Bravo's are planning. Take John and double team him. Go on."
"But LT, I've never done an interrogation before."
"There's a first time for everything Fred."
"Okay. You're the Lieutenant."
As Simmons anticipated, Silva didn't take well to interrogation, much less by a couple of kids, one of whom he genuinely hated. Simmons made his rounds, and on his return found Fred and John deep in conversation with a Lance Corporal from Silva's platoon. The three were laughing as if they had been friends for years. If this really was Fred's first interrogation, he was doing a fine job of it.
"Spartans, over here please."
"Coming LT." John answered.
"What's up LT?" Fred's face betrayed his eagerness to spill what he had learned from Silva's man.
"What did you guys get out of Lieutenant Silva?"
"Nothing. He would hardly grunt at Fred and I couldn't get anything out of him." John seemed to be putting the pieces together, but Fred didn't seem to care about Silva.
"I figured that would happen. Did you find out anything at all?"
"Oh, man LT. That one guy wouldn't shut up. He told us how many, where, and when. There's gonna be a hundred man assault at dawn a hundred meters to the left of here." Fred pointed to the hill where Omni and Linda were keeping an eye out.
"What was that man's name?"
"Lance Corporal Lister. Service Number…" John answered methodically.
"It's not important. I think I'll go talk to him."
The LT went over to Linda and gave her some directions. Then Simmons meandered over to Silva, had a few words, and strolled on toward the man John and Fred had pointed out.
"Hello Lance Corporal. Here, take a glass of water."
"Thanks sir. Thanks a lot." The man was young and he was eager. But he was also dangerously naive.
"Now Lance Corporal Lister, I wanted to personally thank you for the information you gave me. Now here's a demonstration of what I'm going to do with it." He raised his hand and gave Linda and Omni the ok. Their shots rang out and hit Silva and all his men in seconds. Their gear went off, and their screams of annoyance took the smile from Lister's face. Then a great red dot from a laser sight appeared on the Lance Corporal's head.
"Do you see that, Lance Corporal?" Simmons pointed to the retching men trying to take off their beeping equipment. Lister was sweating bullets now and his face was full of the realization that he had just sold out his men, and the men of Bravo Company. Simmons brought his face close into the shaking Marine's, so that their noses were almost touching. "That is what happens when people talk. This may be an exercise, but those men are as good as dead, and it's your fault. You are in a position of authority Lance Corporal. Learn this lesson well, and teach it to the men under your command."
With that, Simmons stepped aside and a blank shot rang out, and in an instant Lance Corporal Lister was looking for his MILES's off switch with the rest of Silva's men. On his way back to the platoon's CP, Fred came running up alongside the careworn Lieutenant.
"What did you do that for LT?"
"Because Fred, people need to learn that war is serious, and there's going to be a real fight to win someday."
The young Spartan stopped walking and thought about that. His face hardened and he realized Simmons was right. From that day on, Spartan 104, Fred, never thought of war as a game again.
The Bravo's morning assault was entirely successful, resulting in the capture of the woods without a single casualty. This success was largely in part to the fact that Simmons and the men had already been picked up by the morning's first Pelicans. The Spartans rode in a separate Pelican to a separate installation, and Linda was tempted to take down a few Bravos from the air, but under Simmons' orders John held her back.
Silva and his men were untied and Silva was chewed out thoroughly by his superior, and in turn Silva chewed Lister out. And so the last uncaptured flag on Reach fell to the Spartans and the 89th Drop Jet Platoon.