SECTION I: REVELATIONS
Chapter Six: One of Us
1437 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \
Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified
Commandeer Atwood's breathing hitched as he saw the length of Onyx One's CSV. Not only was he a decorated soldier pre-augmentation, but by the number of operations he had participated in as a Spartan, it was clear that he was above even the might of Onyx Team. There was only one word to describe Spartans like this: legendary.
"Spartan Aaron Ferguson, service number 47760-51809-AF. Current callsign is Onyx One, but according to his records, he served as Delta Company's commander and as part of… the original Onyx Team." At that, Atwood's curiosity exploded through an invisible ceiling. He simply had to know. "He has also operated independently of any larger Spartan units for some time, but more on that later."
The commander decided to give Black-Box his time. The AI, or rather the fragment of BB, seemed to be enjoying his narration. Besides, it sure as hell beat reading.
"This Spartan was born on March 14, 2520 to grain farmers just outside of Gladsheim on Harvest." Commander Atwood's heart skipped a beat: the commander of Onyx Team was a survivor of Harvest. Not only that, but he was most likely an orphan. The war tore apart too many families.
"It seems that his uncle was a former member of the CMA who had been discharged for medical reasons and re-settled on Harvest with his family. The young Ferguson had looked up to his uncle and father, as all children do. Unfortunately, the Covenant struck the planet when he was only 4 years old. Aaron's father and uncle gave their lives to allow him and his mother to escape, nearly killing a Brute in the process."
Impressive: not many normal humans can say that they fought off a Brute, especially without military equipment. Commander Atwood pulled up a photo of a young Aaron Ferguson, taken at a UNSC resettlement camp on Draco III. The child had a thick head of dirty blonde hair and was caked with dirt and dust, but the commander recognized the look in his grey eyes. He could see the warrior Aaron would become: a soldier determined to slay the same monsters that took his father from him.
"One tragedy seemed to follow another for the young boy. His mother committed suicide in 2532, leaving Aaron to fend for himself in one of many resettlement camps on Draco III. As soon as he turned 17 in 2537, he enlisted in the Marinek Corps and served in four campaigns across three different systems." Another picture of Aaron popped up: now, he was a twenty-something Marine firing a MA5B assault rifle, seemingly roaring as he did so. Upon closer examination, Atwood realized that this same photo had been used in a UNSC propaganda ad in the 2540s. He looks like a berserker. How did that become a Spartan?
"After he was wounded on Miridem, he was extended an invitation to join the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. He quite literally left the hospital two days earlier to begin his training. After months of grueling work, Sergeant Aaron Ferguson was assigned to the 17th Shock Troops Battalion and quickly rose to command a squad of his own. From the beginning of his deployment as an ODST, ONI kept their eyes on him, having identified him as a possible candidate for a theoretical Spartan successor program." An ONI file on Ferguson flashed open, with a picture of a fully armor-clad ODST vaulting over a trench lip towards the enemy. Yet again, Atwood recognized the picture from a propaganda video. Seriously, did he sign a contract with Section Two?
"Ferguson served in eleven different campaigns as an ODST, receiving, among other commendations, four Silver Stars and the Colonial Cross. Apparently, he killed an entire Covenant platoon while trying to save his squad on Algolis. You should definitely read that section of the report later." Black-Box sounded impressed. And he's rarely impressed. Guess this Spartan is one of those full-blown angels of death he keeps blabbering on about.
"In August of 2552, Gunnery Sergeant Ferguson fought alongside Spartan NOBLE Team on Reach, first to help repel the initial attack on ONI SWORD Base and then side by side with Nobles One and Five. During the course of the battle he received extensive plasma burns trying to charge a fixed position. He was medevaced to the UNSC Hopeful for treatment, managing to escape the battle before the main Covenant fleet elements arrived on August 30th."
Yet again, another member of Onyx Team had escaped Reach by the skin of their teeth. Honestly, how the hell do these people do it? Atwood skimmed through the medical reports from Ferguson's injuries: he had sustained burns on his upper torso and arms trying to take down a Shade turret. Only a trip to the Hopeful's burn unit had saved his life. These bastards are just lucky.
"After two months of recuperation in a medical facility on Earth, Ferguson was released from care the day that the Covenant fleet first arrived. He was quickly redeployed alongside ONI security units to defend the skyhooks above Luna, even working with a handful of Spartan-III fireteams."
Atwood remembered his days on Earth during the invasion: they were fraught with worry, almost torturously so. He had been the one in charge of Spartan-III deployments, alongside Serin of course. They had even been evacuated by a team of the young commandoes. Dagger, was it?
"Following the arrival of the Forerunner Dreadnaught, the ODST was redeployed to the UNSC Aegis Fate. He was aboard the frigate when it followed the Covenant through the Portal at Voi alongside the Fleet of Retribution. Having been damaged in the initial space battle, Aegis Fate couldn't deploy its personnel until the final battle for the Citadel. Gunnery Sergeant Ferguson was deployed alongside an armored platoon, serving with both Timothy Darden and SPARTAN-117."
A video of the final battle filled the holographic screen. Ferguson had just dismounted from a damaged Warthog, firing his assault rifle at an unknown enemy. By the looks of it, this had been captured from the Master Chief's personal helmet cam. He must have been good, for the Chief to ride with him. A burnt out Scarab loomed menacingly in the background, but the ODST pressed on, followed quickly by a dazed SPARTAN-II. Together, the two cut a swath through the remaining Covenant infantry and reached the chasm separating them from the Citadel. Before the Master Chief ran across the activated light bridge, he turned to Ferguson and nodded slightly in appreciation. In response, the ODST saluted the final SPARTAN as he charged into the mouth of hell itself.
"Even before augmentations, he could do that? He's…" Atwood stopped himself. He never reminded himself of his past life. It's not who I am anymore. I'm not that kind of person anymore. Black-Box finished his sentence for him. "In the words of his Spartan recruiter, he is one of the finest soldiers he had ever seen. Oh, did I mention that was Jun talking?"
Atwood smiled warmly. Jun really wasn't one to give out compliments like that. "Continue with your narration, BB. I haven't got all day." The floating blue cube shivered in indignation. "Don't you dare rush me, Commander." The AI "cleared his throat" and continued on.
"After returning home on the Aegis Fate, Aaron Ferguson was officially recruited for the first class of the SPARTAN-IV program by none other than Jun-A266. Accepting the offer, he took part in the augmentation procedures and trained with the first class of 145 Spartans on Mars. It says here that he was allowed leave to return to Earth for the christening of the Voi Memorial, but quickly returned back to complete his training."
Only those who had taken part in Operation: BLIND FAITH and the brass of the UNSC were allowed to attend the memorial ceremony. Atwood had read the transcript of Hood's speech: short but impressive nonetheless. Even the Arbiter had attended, pledging his support to the nascent peace process between humanity and its former Sangheili enemies.
A picture of Ferguson standing in full dress, a head above most humans in attendance, filled the screen. The man had close-cut dirty blonde hair, with a few small scars here and there on his hands. His face seemed remarkably unmarked for a man so accustomed to war, with the exception of a small scar curling down from his lip.
"Five months after the conclusion of the Human-Covenant War, Spartan Ferguson was deployed alongside one hundred SPARTAN operators to take part in anti-insurgency operations on New London. Afterwards, he was assigned as a permanent member of Fireteam Onyx, first commanded by Spartan Sarah Palmer."
Palmer: Infinity's Spartan commander? He had heard stories of the Spartan: former ODST, tough as nails. Young too: of course, almost all the SPARTAN-IVs were young compared to him. Wow, guess I really am old now. All those years in cryo kept me looking young, though. Or so Serin keeps telling me.
"The fireteam quickly became known as the deadliest SPARTAN-IVs, serving in multiple operations against the Insurrection, including the highly publicized Draco III rebellion in February 2554. After putting down the rebels, Fireteam Onyx was given three weeks of shore leave on Earth, which was cut short by a force recall directive courtesy of…"
"The Office of Naval Intelligence. What the hell did we want from these guys?"
"Remember the Fleet of Glorious Ascendance?" Atwood nodded: everyone at ONI remembered the sheer terror that gripped their hearts during that crisis. A Sangheili admiral had returned from a military expedition to find the Covenant torn asunder and humanity still barely clinging to existence. Hoping to rectify this "problem", the warlord declared war on Earth, massing a fleet of over two hundred ships over Harvest. Desperate to save the human race from what would assuredly be its extinction, the UNSC put together a Spartan strike force to neutralize the threat using one of the last remaining NOVA bombs.
"Well, they were part of the Spartan contingent that neutralized 'Qualom's naval forces." Atwood's eyes widened at the implication: Ferguson had served on that team? His appreciation for the SPARTAN-IV's skills grew once he began skimming the after-action report. Not only did he single-handedly take down five Sangheili Honor Guardsmen, but he killed Beren 'Qualom, a legendary warrior in his own right, in single combat.
"Once Operation: SALVATION was concluded, Fireteam Onyx was broken up in preparation for the recruitment of more SPARTAN-IVs. Spartans Palmer and Davis served as a two-soldier spec ops team, Spartan Dalton went on to command Fireteam Talon, and Spartans Kodiak and Ferguson were loaned to the Office of Naval Intelligence for high-risk operations. Spartan Ferguson operated independently of any other Spartans for four months before being recalled to Mars once more."
A copy of Ferguson's recall orders flashed open, along with records of all his operations for ONI. Venezia, Talitsa, Terceira, half a dozen other worlds: all his missions were efficient, clean, with casualty counts in the hundreds. Remarkable: a one-man army by all accounts. So why did Spartan branch recall such a valuable asset? Looking at the recall orders, Atwood saw that Admiral Osman had signed off on the transfer back to Spartan branch.
"Early in 2554, Spartan Ferguson had drafted an idea for a new type of Spartan unit, not considered since the days of the SPARTAN-III program. He postulated that the current fireteam-based training regimen of SPARTAN-IVs limited the program's ability to take those small teams and forge them into a larger, more effective fighting force. He further theorized that training a platoon-sized force from the start with more rigor than previously done would make the IVs more effective, even to the level of the previous programs."
Ferguson's theory was sound: the IIs and IIIs had been trained as part of a larger fighting force, which partially explained their clear superiority to the IVs. If the IVs could be trained to work as a larger unit, they would possess that versatility that the previous Spartan generations had. They would be a mighty sword to smite the enemies of humanity. They would be true Spartans.
"Evidently, HIGHCOM thought so too, because Ferguson was offered the command of a proof-of-concept force classified as Spartan Delta Company. From the beginning, he took a different approach to training: rather than working with already augmented personnel, he selected one hundred and fifty UNSC personnel flagged by Spartan branch and put them through what he called "Spartan basic." He evidently drew upon ODST training protocols and combined them with regimens from the previous programs."
Pictures of training manuals, written by Ferguson personally, flashed open on the holoscreen. Atwood was once again stunned by the Spartan's ingenuity. He was a tactical genius. He must have put his trainees through the ringer. "How many made it through his training program?"
"Only forty were augmented after ten weeks. Another ten were transferred to other units, leaving only six full fireteams of SPARTAN-IVs to operate as part of Delta Company."
Atwood leaned back in his chair, analyzing the data pulled up by Black-Box. Six diamonds, all different colors, hung in front of him. Under each icon was the name of a fireteam. Above all the diamonds was a square icon, colored white and simply titled "CDR Ferguson." Tapping the white square, Atwood saw the display morph into a 3D model of a Spartan in full gear.
His chosen armor was the Soldier pattern: remarkably standard for a field commander, but Atwood guessed that he simply continued to use his previous armor from his time in ONI. The helmet was what truly gave the armor its trademark look: a thick metal cowl covered the lower half of the Spartan's face, leaving only a thin orange visor over the eyes. The armor was colored an olive green with white highlights, very unlike Fireteam Onyx's trademark black and gray.
"Why did he change his armor's color?" Atwood's seasoned eyes continued to analyze Ferguson's avatar, taking in the familiar dents and scratches he had seen on Onyx One's armor. He was clearly a decorated Spartan: that much was clear. "So what is a former company commander doing leading a fireteam, even one as decorated as Onyx?" He punched a couple of commands into his holographic keyboard, hoping to find more answers.
ERROR. FILE NOT FOUND. That message, as before, flashed up on the screen. Atwood slammed his fist into the desk, his face contorted in a flash of anger. Why couldn't she just include the post-Spartan files? RECORDS CLASSIFIED BY SPARTAN COMMAND. Yeah, like that has ever stopped ONI.
"What I wouldn't give for a Waypoint connection right now…" Atwood typed in another line of code, returning the screen to the icons representing Delta Company. He tapped the black diamond labeled "ONYX", opening up the fireteam's file.
Like before, five avatars materialized over the desk. Five demigods, clad in modern battle plate, "stood" before the ONI commander, for lack of a better term. To Atwood's shock, only four members of Onyx were recognizable. Underneath each Spartan were their names: Timothy Darden, Moana Ngata, Xing Huan, Yasmin Rajavi. And a fifth name, underneath a female Spartan clad in Warrior-class MJOLNIR: Maria Paris. Momentarily puzzled, Atwood almost missed the three letters listed after the mystery Spartan's name:
KIA.
The familiar clank of titanium boots on titanium deck plating resounded through Onyx One's helmet speakers, the filter making it sound even tinnier. His eyes were fixed on the end of the hallway, never deviating for a second. Those few naval personnel around him gaped at him, awed by the warrior in their midst. Even though he wasn't armed, they still gave him a wide berth, well aware of the devastation that Spartans were capable of unleashing.
And he ignored them all. His mind was elsewhere, his attention on other matters. The comings and goings of the station's personnel would soon be his concern, but not today. Today, he just needed some peace and quiet.
He knew just the place to do so: up on Deck A, near the docking and loading bays, was a small, unused stellar observation room. It was a low-tech solution to be used if the station's highly advanced stellar cartography suite or its backup on the science deck both failed. According to the station's A.I., rarely anyone used it, which made it perfect for the Spartan.
Ferguson passed a massive door labeled "5" and made his way to a small titanium door at the end of the long, wide corridor. As he approached, a wall panel next to the door slid open to reveal a keypad. It was an old model, battery-powered so as to maintain the security of the room in the event of system-wide power failure. He punched in the four digit code given to him by Athena, his armored fingers making the buttons look even smaller.
The keypad beeped and slid back into the wall, the panel closing in front of it. The door likewise slid open, revealing a beautiful stellar backdrop. Stepping fully into the room, Onyx One took in his surroundings. The room was small, maybe thirty meters long by twenty meters wide. While three walls were simply unadorned Titanium-A, the fourth wall was made of the same glass used in starship bridges. Beyond it lay the cold, unyielding vacuum of space, sheer blackness interspersed with distant specks of light and much closer chunks of rock and clouds of dust from the surrounding asteroid field.
There were two chairs in the middle of the room, but the Spartan knew that they wouldn't support his weight. Seeing that his only other option were flimsy folding chairs lined up on the sides of the room, he elected to stand instead. He was content to just look out on the distant stars, his HUD turned off to expand his view.
That familiar ache in his chest seemed to expand as he gazed out on the cosmos. He remembered doing this same sort of thing with her all those months ago. Before Malurok, before his life as a warrior truly began. A life of solitude, a life of regret.
0957 Hours, July 17, 2554 (Military Calendar) \
HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, Sydney, Australia, Earth
Never before had Aaron Ferguson felt so… alone. Even in a sea of personnel, making their way into the headquarters of the UNSC, he stood out. Of course, he was wearing full MJOLNIR armor, courtesy of his marching orders from ONI. He looked down to see the familiar symbol emblazoned on his upper torso, near his left shoulder. The mark that proclaimed him to be untouchable, even by Spartan standards. He was a god among gods, implacable, invincible.
If only that were true. The SPARTAN-IV program, only 145 strong at its inception, had already begun to lose soldiers. Among the most prevalent to Ferguson was a Spartan who had died alone, outmanned and outgunned on the moon of some Outer Colony world that Ferguson couldn't even remember. Edward Davis was a comrade, a friend: and the Covenant gunned him down like an animal.
He could feel the reactive crystal layer of his armor flex as his own muscles did. The sheer power he possessed in the armor was still something that Ferguson was in complete awe of. How simple it now was to break bones, shatter ligaments, and rip limbs from bodies. Still, he had learned how to control his motions for good reasons. The slightest of slip-ups could end in fellow service members injured or dead.
The Spartan refocused his attention on the bank of elevators near the back of the building. They were protected by a full fireteam of SPARTAN-IVs, outfitted with the Warrior armor suite, their armor mostly cobalt with white highlights. Colossus. The fireteam had trained alongside Onyx on Mars, but they had always come dead last in training exercises. Guess they're on guard duty now.
Without a word, the line of supersoldiers parted before him. Colossus's leader (Garrick, I think?) nodded to his fellow Spartan, who solemnly returned the favor. Without another word, the Spartans closed ranks behind him, their assault rifles resting gently in their gauntleted hands. Ferguson continued to make his way to the high-security elevator bank.
Reaching the set of four elevators, he thumbed the down button and waited patiently. Just a few seconds later, the doors slid open with a whisper, revealing an oak-paneled compartment with two people already inside. One was a familiar face to the Spartan, while the other one struck fear into the young Spartan's heart.
Captain Annabelle Richards flashed Aaron a thin smile before reaching out to shake his hand. "Spartan Ferguson, good to see you as always." He nodded and returned the handshake. "Likewise, m'am."
The redhead smiled once more and turned to the woman standing next to her. "Admiral Osman, this is the Spartan I was just telling you about. Aaron Ferguson, Delta-6 operator." The Mjolnir-clad individual broke out in a cold sweat as the other woman sized him up. She's more terrifying than I could have imagined.
Admiral Osman's brown eyes stared up at him, seemingly boring into his faceplate. She was at least six feet two, maybe even more. She looked as fit as an Olympic athlete, despite her age. Ferguson had heard whispers from within ONI about their commander-in-chief's origins, but had never truly took stock in them before today. But now, he could see why people thought that way. She looks like a goddamn Spartan.
The Admiral thrust her hand out as the Captain had done. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you Spartan. I've seen your work: you really are one of the best." Her hand shook his with a surprising firmness coming from a non-Spartan. Ferguson's apprehension grew as he stepped fully into the elevator, the doors sealing shut behind him with a hiss. "That deep-recon operation on Venezia stands out to me. Fifty-two Insurrectionists killed, including two key militia leaders, with an Insurrectionist A.I. recovered as well. You certainly have invaluable skills."
Aaron remained silent, choosing to let the Admiral finish with her train of thought. She looked up into his faceplate once more, that same icy cold gaze fixed on him. "Which is why I'm surprised that Spartan branch just ordered me to give you back. This must be extremely important if they want you this badly."
Ferguson was surprised: he thought that ONI was the agency responsible for his recall to Earth. Why would Spartan branch need him this badly? Surely they didn't need him for some black ops mission: those were usually Section Three's purview. Were they reforming Fireteam Onyx again? The thought of seeing his closest friends once more sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system. The excitement was tempered with a sobering realization: even if Onyx was being reinstated, they would be a man short.
The elevator dinged after its kilometer long plummet into the bowels of the facility. The doors slid openly without a sound, revealing a long hallway with a large doorway at the end. Six MPs stood guard, their assault rifles lowering back to a more relaxed position. Clearly they weren't expecting a Spartan. Ferguson exited first, standing to the side to let Admiral Osman and Captain Richards to file out.
To his surprise, Captain Richards stayed in the elevator, already thumbing the up button. "Admiral, I will see you back at Core 5." Osman turned and nodded to her protégé. She's leaving me with Osman? What the hell did I do to deserve this?
The doors slid shut, leaving the MJOLNIR-clad Spartan alone with the infamous admiral. She turned her gaze on him once again, before walking down towards the doorway. Ferguson followed close behind, taking in the starkness of the hallway. It was startling even to him: he expected ONI to be cold and heartless, but this seemed a bit excessive even for them.
"Spartan Ferguson?" Osman's voice seemed to come at him from every angle thanks to the acoustics of the hallway. Ferguson ignored the uneasy feeling in his gut and responded. "Yes, Admiral Osman?"
"I just want you to know that whatever I say in this room, I still believe that you are one of the finest soldiers this current Spartan program has produced. Unfortunately, as the ice queen, I'm expected to put on a show for everyone." The Admiral flashed the supersoldier an unnerving smile. "Get ready for some theater."
Before Aaron could respond, the doorway opened in front of them. The MPs filed to the side to allow the ONI admiral and her companion to enter. Ferguson took in the room as the door slid shut behind him. The room was remarkably simple, with a single U-shaped table in the middle of the space. A giant version of the UNSC's newest logo was etched into the floor before the table, the eagle's single eye staring up at the ceiling.
Behind the table sat some of the most powerful men and women in the UNSC. Ferguson breathed in a heavy sigh as he saw the memorable visage of Lord Hood, the Chief of Naval Operations and de facto leader of humanity during the Human-Covenant War. He sat at the apex of the U, flanked by an empty seat to his right and General Hogan, the Marine Corps representative to the Security Council. Filling out the remaining seats on the Security Council were a balding Air Force General to the left of General Hogan and a younger, sharper looking Army Lieutenant General two seats to the right of Lord Hood. Admiral Osman moved to take the vacant seat at Lord Hood's right hand. ONI's place in the UNSC's hierarchy was absolutely clear in that moment.
Filling out the rest of the table were other officers of flag rank and even some junior ones, presumably aides and assistants to the bigger fish. Ferguson's eyes alighted upon someone who he hadn't expected to see: the commander of Spartan branch. Rear Admiral Musa may have been confined to a wheelchair, but he was still one of the most imposing figures at the table, sitting at the right end of the U-shaped table. He nodded to Spartan Ferguson, who snapped a quick salute in return.
Lord Hood cleared his throat, the action amplified by hidden speakers in the room. The chatter died down as he began to speak. "This meeting will now come to order. Now, son, what is your name?" Everyone's attention turned to the Spartan standing before them. Aaron broke out in a cold sweat: never before had he felt so scrutinized. He fell back into protocol after a split second of hesitation, snapping a salute to the gathered officers. "Spartan Aaron Ferguson reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease, Spartan." Ferguson fell into parade rest, his hands folded behind his back. Lord Hood turned to one of the junior staffers and nodded. The young lieutenant nodded and typed some commands into his datapad. Hidden holoprojectors in the ceiling flashed to life, projecting an image of a Spartan in full gear in the middle of the U.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to discuss fundamental changes to the SPARTAN-IV program and Spartan branch as a whole." Osman chuckled softly, shaking her head. Ferguson was puzzled by the action, but no one else seemed to notice. Pays to be the only augmented individual in the room. "Admiral Musa, do you want to take this from here?"
"Of course Admiral." Musa turned to look at Aaron directly. "Spartan Ferguson, you recently sent your training officer, Jun-A266, a copy of a 'thesis', for lack of a better term, you had recently developed. To develop this thesis, you used documents from the previous three SPARTAN programs, including Project: ORION." A copy of a document flashed onscreen next. To Aaron's dismay, it had been marked for Security Council approval by Admiral Musa himself. Didn't expect this to go this far up the food chain.
"For the benefit of all those here who have not had the pleasure of reading your thesis, please enlighten us with a short summary." Musa leaned back in his chair, his eyes silently pleading with Aaron. The Spartan was taken aback by the request, but he managed to stammer out a response. "Yes, sir, I can do that."
Aaron cleared his throat and took a few steps forward. His footsteps boomed in the cavernous room, echoing for seconds before fading. "I first came up with the idea following the loss of Spartan Holst in August of 2553. The genesis of my thesis, however, truly started with the Draco III rebellion and its aftermath. Four SPARTAN-IV teams were deployed to New Albany to combat the Insurrection there. The four teams, from the start, were plagued with communications issues and the inability to coordinate. It was because of this that the UNSC lost several assets, including an ODST taken hostage by the United Rebel Front."
"The SPARTAN-IV program has succeeded in its first objective: to create powerful soldiers to fight for the UNSC. But, it has failed to achieve a far more important goal: to create Spartans true to the name and glory established by the Master Chief and his kin." Ferguson could hear the murmurs in the room from several officers, including General Hogan and the Air Force general on the Security Council. Clearly his opinion wasn't a popular one with some of the top brass.
"Looking at post-operation reports from the previous SPARTAN programs, the fourth generation of Spartans, even with the advancements in MJOLNIR and augmentation procedures, have not lived up to the legendary status of their predecessors. Their performance against Insurrectionist cells has been adequate up to this day, but now the UNSC faces a returning threat: the Covenant. Just six weeks ago, the colony of Draetheus V was attacked by a substantial force under the command of Merg Vol. Even though two Spartans were able to repel the invasion, many lives were lost, including Spartan Edward Davis. Just a year prior to that, the Earth was under threat by another Covenant faction."
"In order to face these new threats, the SPARTAN-IV program has to change. Our training protocols have to change. And I think I have discovered the answer." He nodded to Admiral Musa, who tapped in a command on his data pad. Now, three different Spartans appeared on screen, each marked with a Roman numeral. The II was wearing MJOLNIR Mark V armor, with 117 marked on the right breastplate. The III was wearing standard SPI Mark II armor, this one marked with G079, and the IV, the only female, was wearing the GEN2 version of the Scout armor. Her name, S. Palmer, was listed below the Roman numeral.
"The SPARTAN-IIs and IIIs were so much more successful because they trained as a group from a very young age. They became true Spartans not because of fancy augmentations or equipment, but because they were part of something greater. Moral concerns asides, the training of the previous two programs far outstrips that of the fourth generation. While there are some outliers, our performance as a Spartan program isn't quite there yet. So, what if we trained SPARTAN-IVs like we did the previous programs?"
"Instead of providing augmentations and MJOLNIR first, cull the pack. Take five applicants for every available slot and work them to the bone. ODSTs undergo a very similar process of training, so why not Spartans? Becoming a Spartan should be the hardest experience in these people's lives. They need to truly earn their place, just as the Spartans of old once did. Once we've selected the appropriate candidates, augmentations come first, followed by a strict regime of training based around a platoon-sized force."
It was then that General Hogan let out a loud yet dark chuckle. "Boy, we've spent billions of credits in medical research, tech development, training protocols. Do you honestly expect us to believe some Spartan flunky knows more about special operations than us?"
Aaron didn't feel threatened by the aging general, only angered. "No sir. I don't know more about special operations. But I do know about Spartans. I served alongside members of the two previous generations. Can you say the same?" The room became silent as Hogan turned beet red from a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Ferguson and Musa both smirked, although the SPARTAN-IV's face was hidden by his helmet.
"Spartan Ferguson is one of our finest. To question his experience is to insult me and my Spartans, General Hogan. And a fireteam of Spartans is worth more than an entire company of your devil dogs, sir. Take care to remember that." Musa put on the terrifying visage his trainers had taught him at basic: one of cold malice, directed solely at the blustering Security Council member.
Lord Hood decided to intervene before things escalated. "What are you asking from us, Spartan Ferguson?"
"A pilot program. I know for a fact that the second class of SPARTAN-IVs is already being recruited as we speak. Take a hundred and fifty candidates and put them through an enhanced pre-augmentation training program. Then, using the results as a benchmark, augment and equip thirty or forty of them and train the different fireteams to work together instead of apart. If my idea doesn't improve efficiency, you can go right back to the original model of training."
The room was deathly quiet. Lord Hood and the other members of the Security Council seemed to be in deep thought, with two exceptions. Admiral Osman stared right at Ferguson, her cold gaze sending shivers down his spine. General Hogan, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his contempt for the augmented warrior standing before them. Marines never do like Spartans, no matter the make and model.
After a few minutes of quiet deliberation, with notes being passed and whispers exchanged, Lord Hood turned to face the SPARTAN-IV in front of him. "Your idea is intriguing Spartan. I'm tempted to approve it, but on one condition."
"What is the condition, sir?"
"That you assume command of the unit and its training." Aaron's jaw almost dropped at the statement: him, in command? "But sir, I have no command experience."
"Son, I read your report through and through, as well as your CSV. You should have been commanding a company during the war, what with your natural aptitude. Besides, the folks at ONI as well as your home branch have given you nothing but perfect marks. You are the one we want commanding this unit."
Aaron thought about the proposition, mulling it over silently. He bit his lip and fixed his eyes on a point high on the opposite wall. After a few seconds of staring, he turned his gaze back to the Admiral and his compatriots. To his surprise, Admiral Osman had a faint smile on her lips, matching that of Admiral Musa's down the table.
"I'll do it, sir. On one condition."
"Name it son."
"The unit. I want it to honor the programs who came before. To stand for something."
Lord Hood looked puzzled, but nodded. "Alright. What do you want to designate it?"
"Spartan Delta Company."
1458 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \
Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified
Spartan Ferguson stared out upon the endless vacuum of space. The inky blackness dominated his vision, with only specks of light and random asteroids providing any aesthetic value to the void of space. The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they?
Her voice wouldn't leave his head. It dominated every thought, every action, every breath. Even after all this time, he couldn't let go of the past. The Spartan, an invincible juggernaut of death and destruction, was being torn apart from the inside out.
Aaron clenched his fists tightly, enough to hear the knuckles pop from the pressure. Every part of him ached, yearned for her. He had lost people before, but never like this, never like her. A small part of him knew that as a Spartan, his duty was to humanity first. So why do I feel like I failed in my duty?
The shadow of Malurok still hung heavy over his head. The memories of that day would affect him for months to come. It would change the course of not only his life, but the lives of hundreds of others.
"An interesting man, to say the least." Atwood typed in a command, pulling up the avatar of Ferguson once more. His armor color scheme reminded him of the original SPARTAN-IIs, with their olive green armor and orange visors. Was it a conscious choice, or did he simply follow a desire to be like his predecessors?
"They all are. This fireteam is the most accomplished and quite frankly deadly of the SPARTAN-IVs I have ever heard of. Five of the most skilled Spartans, all here on this station. Now what are the odds of that?"
Black-Box's sarcasm was a bit too much for his taste, but Atwood knew what the A.I. was getting at. ONI was being particularly secretive about this group of Spartans, even more so than usual. Is this ONI, or is this Serin?
The Commander leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. The pieces were coming together, but he still didn't understand how such an important part of these Spartans' service records could be omitted. It was nearly impossible to see what exactly they had become post-augmentation. Those experiences were unknown to him.
Black-Box appeared on the holoscreen, his dull blue light filling the room. "What now, sir?"
Atwood yanked the chip from his computer, studying it carefully. His eyes narrowed for a second before he turned his gaze on the A.I. "It's time to get some answers BB."
Author's Note:
I'm not dead! I've been working for a while on this one, but I'm finally done! Anyways, one more chapter for Section 1 of this story. I was thinking of publishing the first chapter of my miniseries/spin-off of this story sometime closer to New Year's. The title of the spin-off is The Sword and Shield and focuses on the experiences of SPARTAN-III Gamma Company during the final days of the Human-Covenant War. The main character is Albert-G079, introduced in Chapter IV of this story.
Anyways, I'm just going to say that Halo 5 is so awesome, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone! Until next time, enjoy the new game!