Hey guys. Read the reviews, saw where people saw errors, and I'm making it a point to correct those. Let's hope I improve. Then again, I could revert it to the style of my first story: "Forgiven?" So there's always that option. My Co-Author/Brainstormer is my bro, Brian.
Songs: Dim the Lights, We are Fucked by Two Steps from Hell
O
As they walked to the next Pelican landing pad to go to the next simulation, Craig thought about Veru. He liked the way her name was pronounced. Had to roll the "R" in the first name, and in her last the second "A" was heavily pronounced. So it sort of sounded like "Thumb-ALL-EE." Very intruiging.
Once they had made it to the hub, they could see the scenario on-screen. A Capture-The-Flag on CTF Valhalla. "Ooh, this one. Exciting." He said, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"What makes it like that?" She asked. He looked right to find her head twisted in a questioning look. Apparently gestures were universal.
"It's actually not."
She looked a bit confused. "Then why did you say it was?" She asked. He could hear the anger in her voice.
"It's sarcasm. It's why I'm Seargeant Sarcasm. Due to my bitingly sarcastic nature. Not humor. What was I thinking?" He asked himself.
"I...don't think I can answer that for you."
He looked taken aback. "That was a rhetorical question." A blank stare. Or, atleast what he could tell from her Flight Helmet's blank stare. "It's a question that doesn't need to be answered. It's kind of like when you think to yourself: 'Where did I leave that thing?'" She nodded in understanding. Craig looked to the clock. Not enough people yet.
For a few moments, it was an awkward silence. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. She started the conversation, he was still thinking of something. "I like your armor. Most of you Spartans don't even bother." She said, looking at first at Craig, then the others. There were a few who had something other than the Mark VI, but at least half had it. Craig was different. He had a oddly-shaped helmet on, with large, bulky shoulders. His chest armor was rather ornate, and a blade was strapped across his back.
He felt flattered for the compliment. He smiled behind his E.O.D. Helmet. He shrugged his Security Pauldron-clad shoulders. His Hayabusa armored chest rose, since he got the Katana add-on because he was a veteran. She watched each guesture, stufying them. This must be the way Humans show pride. "Thanks. Way back I was the heavy weapon specialist of my team. Or, I just loved to use a Gatling Gun. Though, I'm still damn good with everything else. Give me a Battle Rifle, and I'm happy. My motto was: 'We're two tons of armor, let's take advantage of it!'"
She made that "Chuckling" nosie again. He smiled beneath his helmet. "Yes. In the Pilot's division, we had to take a sidearm, just in case. I always chose a Carbine. Most chose a 33-GML, but I-" She began to lecture, but was stopped by Craig.
"What's a 33-GML?" He asked, a finger raised in quetion. She looked taken aback once more.
"It's a Gudied Munitions Launcher." She recieved nothing in response, excluding the blank look. "It has needles on top?" She suggested, holding her hand in a one-handed weapon position, her left hand hovering over it.
"Ah! You mean a Needler?" She cocked her head.
"Is that what you humans called it?" She asked, her tone a bit disbelieving.
"Well...yeah. We generally name things by what we see them as. We called the blue handheld gun a 'Plasma Rifle'..."
"A 25-DER?" She asked. He looked at her blankly. "Oh right, sorry. Heh-heh. A Directed Energy Rifle." She said, rubbing the back of her neck.
"I see." He looked up at the clock. A few more people, and it'd be set. "As you were saying with the sidearm?"
"Well, I always went with a Carbine. The others went with 33-GML's. I guess because of the heat seeking spikes it made it easy to kill. But it wasn't meant for long conflicts. It was meant for shock troopers, who could ambush the enemy. The Carbine has a scope, is semi-automatic, and is relatively light. Wich means if I were to crash my Seraph, and I would be stuck in a forest, I could go for quite some time."
"Ah. So you're a pilot?"
"Yes." She stated proudly. "I got in by my bondmate's recommendation. He told his Commanding Officer I had the reflexes of a pilot. He let me try, and turns out I had what you humans would call a 'Knack' for it. So I was made a pilot. Of course seeing as I'm female, I was placed on a rarely-used vehicle, so I was assigned to a Seraph. I wasn't called upon often, obviously, but when I was, it was to cover the Phantom that held my bondmate and his fellow Rangers."
"Sounds like you had an amazing...what did you call him?"
"A bondmate."
"Ah. So, what's a bon-" He said, but was cut off by the Pelican pilot speaking over the comm.
"File in! It's time to go!"
Craig turned to his friend. "It's time." He flicked his head back and walked up to the Pelican. He bumped into a Spartan-III with rust colored armor.
"Sorry." He quickly said without looking at Craig, and jumped up into the Pelican. Craig shook his head and muttered somehting about no respect, and climbed on. He extended a hand to Veru, and she climbed on. The duo walked into the back. The ride'd take a few minutes.
"Spartan," She asked, "why does your armor look different from the others?"
He looked around. Then at his armor. "I'm a Spartan-II. We were trained at different times, so they have suits with more bells and whistles." She sighed softly, and he remembered that she didn't understand human figures of speech. "That means it's just fancier. Flashy." She seemed to understand. Craig pulled out his Battle Rifle and sat down. She pulled out her Carbine and did the same. It wasn't very easy sitting with an armament on your back.
As the Pilot alerted them of the nearing, Craig prepped himself for combat. He regulated his breathing. The conditioned air from his suit's enviroment lock was cold and fresh. He closed his eyes and went through the Spartan code of checking his rifle.
First the sights. He shouldered his rifle and looked down the scope. It lined up with the sights on the gun.
Second the clip. He pressed the button to eject the clip and checked the mag. Full. He slammed it back in, and cocked it.
Third was to get to know your rifle. He didn't need to do this, but it was habit. Something to keep the memory of Betty alive. Betty...not now. He did a testing rifle-butt. The motion was second nature to the Gunnery Seargeant. That little move saved his ass more than once with Elites or Brutes who got a little too close for comfort. Fucking Brutes...outta kill them all for what they did to Betty...Damn it! He mentally slapped himself for letting his mind slip to her.
The door opened. This was for their team. Craig got up and walked out calmly. Veru, after a moment of staring trying to figure out what prompted her friend to do that, followed. The III who bumped into the II also got out. His Sniper Rifle's stand waved a little bit from the motion.
"Hey, Veru, you said you were a pilot?" Craig quesitoned, and she nodded. "Well, time to show me your skills." He said, and motioned for her to follow. He ran around a corner and when she rounded it, she stopped. It was Hornet. She was a pilot for dropships.
"I'm not sure-"
"Try. If you could pilot a Spirit, then you can pilot this." He ordered, jumping on the side. She shook her head, but still complied, getting in. She turned it on, and got to a suitable altitude. As they flew from the Forerunner Tower closer to the beach, Craig couldn't help but notice a red beam on the Hornet. He tried shooting at the origin, but it was no use. They were screwed. He closed his eyes in preperation for his armor locking up, noting him that he was "Killed".
It never came.
He looked, and the Laser-weilder was sprawled on the ground, Laser on the ground. He got up and walked back to his respawn zone. "You're welcome?" A voice suggested. It was...vaguely familiar.
"Yeah, uh...thanks." Craig said over his comm. Veru heard the sniper puff, obviously dissapointed with the appreciation of the ass-saving.
"Spartan, E.T.A. to drop off: five seconds. Craig counted down, prepping for the jump. Once he got to fie, he closed his eye and pushed himself off the Hornet. He jumped out onto the enemy's base and grabbed their flag. Veru couldn't lower, too much fire. She had to pull back and fire, keeping Seargeant Sarcasm safe. He ordered her to come a lttle closer, and turn the ship around. She did, and Craig charged boldly to the Man Cannon. He flew, and and reached for the Hornet.
It grew closer and closer...meters...yards...feet...NOW!
He grabbed for it with his free hand, and couldn't look. He felt himself contact something hard, and his feet lock into place. The magnetic plates in the boots made sure that Spartans -nor Marines- fell off. It worked!
"You haven't changed a bit, Cogburn. Still a badass. Crazy mo-fo, but still. Badass."
O
The rest of the sim went a bit boringly, Veru was shot down after Spartan-43 returned with the flag. The rest of the blue team, through some well-planned diversionary tactics, managed to capture another flag, and when it was their turn to defend, the majority of the team followed some orders -though it was more like him only suggesting them- and they sucessfully defended their flag. The Pelican ride home was fulled with shouts, high-fives, and laughs. Well, atleast for the Spartans and Elites in blue. For the red...the same couldn't be said.
Some of the Spartans, back at base, were talking to Craig, as they'd figured out he was a Spartan-II. He was the last one, really. All the others, either Spartan-III's or IV's. Veru couldn't help but feel her heart, both of them, drop a little at the thought of having everyone she'd known and loved were dead.
But with the rough-bearded man was taking it in stride. He was smiling, giving tips, little things that could "Make or Break a fight". She wandered off and stumbled into a trio of Elites. All male. The two flanking the first wore sort of basic armor, just Assault and Combat. In reality, it was just the Assault chest armor, the rest Combat. She couldn't help but chuckle under he breath at the uncreativity of them.
The first, however...he was interesting. He wore a Combat helmet, as most did, his pauldrons were both Commando, and his chest impressed Veru. An Ascetic. She removed her Flight helmet. "Ripa 'Trantat." She answered coldy.
"Veru 'Thamal! How are you?" He asnwered. If he were speaking to a human, he'd have an even icyer tone than she did to him.
"Fine. I need to get to training-"
"What's one scenario?" He bolsted. "Talk with me for a while, why don't you?"
"I'm busy." She turned and began to walk away, not even wanting to deal with him, but he interruted her walk.
"With you human friend?" She turned back around to find Ripa spreading his mandibles widely, making an impossibly wide human smile. She growled silently. "I know what you're doing. You will not consort with them. I forbid it."
"You forbid me?" She asked. "Who in the Light of Sanghelios do you think you are? My bondmate?"
"You and I both know you want me as a consort. Face it." He boasted. Her eyes narrowed. He was a Swordsmen. They weren't allowed to marry due to their genes, so they were prized as mates. And he was the only one around. She shoved him away.
"Piss off." The female Sanghelli stated, imitating a human she'd heard say that. She heard Ripa roar and an Energy Sword blare into life. She turned and only barely missed the swipe. She landed on the ground, and he raised it. She closed her eyes.
She heard metal bang against metal, and opened them. Lying beside her was a familiar tan and blue E.O.D. helmet on its side. An also familiar tan armored figure was hunched over, facing a reeling Ripa 'Trantat. She felt her spirits rise.
Craig was in a boxing style pose, right fist in front of the other. He scanned his foes. One red Elite, right side. One blue Elite, left. Gold, middle. Flanking ones look new, not much resistance. Gold means a Zealot, or at least a Swordsmen. Fuck. Focus on Goldilocks, then two others. Non-helmeted, watch for hits aimed at head.
He noted the glowing Energy Sword in Goldilocks's hand. Disarm it. He stepped forward and took a jab at the Elite's hand, which was raised in anger. It connected, and his training told him to leave it for a second to let the force transfer. As reflex, the Elite loosened his grip, and it fell. The deadly little fuck deactivated after it left the grip, making it harmless. Spartan-43 smiled. He then kicked the sword away, seeing Goldilocks scramble for it. It skittered until it hit the wall.
Now for the others. He staggered witha solid punch to the jaw. It didn't break the reinforced bone, nothing did, but it still hurt. Craig grunted in pain as a multi-jointed leg sweep-kicked his feet from under him and he landed on his back. The red and blue Elites took their chance and began to go to town on Craig. Then Veru saw a flash of brown with a long rifle run up and crack it over the back of the red Elite's head.
The other looked up, noticing that his friend was gone, only to be grounded by the butt of a Sniper Rifle. They scrambled away and stood, facing a Spartan-III, standing with his Sniper rifle held like a club, with the barrel in hands. They had a little stand off, letting Goldilocks and Craig duke it out solo.
They stood at across from one another, Craig still in a boxer's pose, Ripa in the normal Sanghelli fighting stance. He jumped up, raising his four-fingered fist into the air, and trying to slam it down. Craig jumped straight at him, tackling him. He proceeded to face-pound Ripa, until an old man in a drab gray officer uniform ran up, pushing Veru aside.
"Cogburn! Briscoe! All of you, stand down! At once!" As soon as Craig heard the voice, he jumped up and went into a perfect Attention stance.
"Sir, yes, Captain Cutter, Sir." He answered, still holding still. The sniper was more reluctant, unwary of his oponenets, but he eventually did come into attention.
"This is not the way we handle problems! I expected more out of you. You're soldiers, not civillians. Especially you, Craig." The Spartan-in-question turned his eyes away in shame. Ripa got up, and looked as if he were to attack Captain Cutter, but the hardest, most vicous of glares stayed his hoofs. "Now, both of you, shake hands, and put this behind you. There's been enough bloodshed between our species. Already a wide ravine. Let's stop adding to it." And with that, the man that Craig Cogburn respected the most left. After, of course, Ripa 'Trantat and he shook hands.
It ended there. Though grumbling all the way as the two parties seperated could be faintly heard. Craig finally turned to the Spartan-III that assisted him, if not saved his ass.
"Thanks, I appreciate it. I'm-"
"Oh, I know who you are, Gunnery Seargeant." He exclaimed. "But you remember me?" Craig gave him a blank look. "Guess not." He said, then removed his helmet. Craig's expression changed from an annoyed one to one of suprise, shock, and joy.
"Crow! Crow fucking Briscoe!" He exclaimed. "It's been too long!" He said, then raised a hand, palm facing himself. Crow took it and they pulled each other in. They were both smiling widely. "It's great to see you! Where've you been?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Sir."
"Ah, don't call me 'Sir'. The Brass, because I went into retirement, placed me at Corporal. I've had to work my way up."
"You'll always be my CO, Craig."
"Thanks. Means a lot. So, what's your rank, kid?"
"Warrant Officer."
"Good for you!"
"Who's the Elite?" Crow asked, flicking his head to Veru, who took the liberty of answering.
"I am Veru 'Thamal. It is my honor to meet a comrade of Craig's." She said, the did the motion where she bowed her head and put a fist to her chest. Both Spartans thought it was a bit much.
"Relax. It's not like I'm a Shipmaster. And I know how high that is. I've figured out your ranking system. Sorta." She cocked her head and asked how. "See these different tally marks on my rifle? Well, they stand for-" He started proudly, showing her the stock, but was cut off by Craig.
"Oh God, not this story again!" He exclaimed, pressing his fingers into his eyes.
"Hey, if it weren't for this tally-" Crow pointed to one tally, "-then that Zealot'd shove he blade up your ass!"
"I had the situtation completely under control." The tan and blue Spartan defended. "And Silent Night'd be a twisted scrap if I hadn't stopped the Cheiftan from making pulp out of you!" Before the arguement could continue, Veru had question, and when she had a question, she got fucking answers.
"WAIT!" She exclaimed. "What is this 'Silent Night'?"
"It's what I named my baby right here." Crow hefted his rifle upwards a bit. "Remember Craig? The motto?"
"Aw jeez. 'This is my rifle. There are many like it but this one is special because this one is mine.'" They chanted together in perfect unison.
"So...if Crow has his Silent Night, what do you have Craig?" Veru asked. Craig frowned.
"It was a Gatling gun I called 'CZ57 Avenger'. I thought it was pretty badass. And...it kinda meant something to me..." He trailed off. Veru half-expected Crow to make a comment about Craig's sentimentality, but he remained silent.
She had to know what it meant. When she asked, he responded sullenly. "Not right now. Just...later. I don't like thinking about it." She nodded in understanding. "I'll see you guys later. I'm...I'm gonna take the rest of the day off." He said, the without waiting for a response, Spartan-43 Craig Cogburn walked off.