1512, May 27th, 2544 [MILITARY CALENDAR]/ UNSC Faithful, orbiting planet Kanteo III
At this point in our lives, my team and I are used to restless nights and mission after mission with no rest in between. So that's why it was such a huge surprise when Captain Jameson gives us an entire month off of our duties. We are to stay aboard the ship, of course, but other than that we are free to do as we please.
Fireteam Zeta is sent out on a recon mission, so unfortunately they won't be seeing us through our R&R. That's pretty disappointing.
I hadn't realized that the last ODST team was rotated out and replaced by another team. I only realize this when I see Charles Rex and his brother in the gym. They look almost the same as when we saw them over a year ago, but more aged. It's a pleasant surprise to see them.
Just as I am about to head out, Charles spots me and calls me over. "There's our Damsel-in-Distress!" he says, throwing an arm over my shoulders. I look at his arm curiously and think about carefully shrugging it off but decide otherwise. "Hey, Charles. How's it been?" 211 asks, smiling. "The usual. Killing Covies, taking names," he says. "I heard you fought your first innies a few weeks ago. How was it?" Austin asks. His eyes have a strange gleam to them and I have to fight to keep my focus.
"It was different," I say guardedly. I remember the rush of watching the two guards die, the lust for blood, and I shift uncomfortably. Charles' expression falls but he quickly recovers. "Not easy killing another human for the first time. But Covenant? Those bastards deserve it!" Charles says. "I heard someone's getting a promotion," Austin adds, looking at the two of us. I raise an eyebrow curiously and look to 211 who just shrugs. "I haven't heard anything," I say. Charles sets down his weights and gives a laugh. "After your work on Thrug and the rescue of your teammates? Why shouldn't you? The Brass was impressed, Spartan. I heard you're going straight to Sergeant," he says. My expression falls and I shake my head. Maybe I deserve a promotion for other services, but Thrug? We barely fought there...
"No. You must have heard something wrong. We didn't really do much on Thrug. If anything, we failed our mission," I say heavily, my gaze falling to the ground. "Nonsense," Charles says with sudden heat. "You guys did amazingly. You stopped an entire convoy that could have lost us everyone on the planet. You assassinated an Elite General, for crying out loud. That alone is worth a promotion! I say you deserve something higher than Sergeant." Charles' praise takes me by surprise. I hadn't expected it from an ODST of all people. I've come to learn that ODST's and Spartans don't see eye-to-eye. Plus Charles is of much higher in rank than me, and hearing praise from a superior officer is always surprising.
"Now look at what you did. You shocked the poor kid," Austin says with a grin. Charles gives one of his hearty laughs and slaps me on the back. "Snap out of it, Jackson! If your mouth falls any further, you'll swallow a spider," he says. I close my mouth and manage to pull myself back together and get composed. "Thank you, sir," I say simply.
As usual, we aren't told anything about the promotion until we are called by our CO to go to the conference room. There he meets us with a stern look and I'm thinking that this isn't going to be good.
"Jackson-332, Parkson,-333, Kia-334, and Spartan 211. For your service on Planet Thrug and all missions since then, I hereby promote you to the rank of Sergeant," he says. His stern expression softens and he produces four Sergeant bars and pins them to each of our chests. Since we had heard it from Charles first, it's not too much of a surprise. But still...seeing those bars fills me with pride. And by looking at each of my teammates, I can tell that I'm not the only one. "Congratulations, Spartans."
Our versions of celebrating include falling back to our bunks and laughing in shock. "We're Sergeants now!" 211 says, sounding like the little kid he used to be. "No more 'step aside, private'," Kia says, a huge grin on her face. Parkson is enjoying it as well. He sits and stares at the sergeant bar in his hands and watches us with the same overjoyed grin.
And watching them, I realize just how young we still are. The youngest Marine i've ever seen is only eighteen. They're older than us, yet we're Sergeants. I myself am a squad leader. I'm fifteen. Fifteen, and I've already had two years of service in the military, plus ten years spent training. Two years and we've been injured, captured, nearly killed, shot at, and I've even killed another human being. Granted, I'm not sure how other kids our age actually live. But I'm damn sure it's not like this. I've seen the way we're watched and the looks of pity and disgust we get from the other Soldiers. At first I thought it was because of how we acted. Too stiff compared to the others. Maybe how we dressed? But now...I realize it's because of our age.
I'm jerked out of my thoughts once our door opens and four ODST's step through. They each wear sleeveless shirts that show off their scars and tattoos. They look tough, even intimidating. One of them has an Energy Sword scar running across the side of his head and the hair around that area hadn't grown back. The other has a large plasma burn scar covering the entire right side of his face. His skin is twisted and malformed and his lip droops awkwardly.
Behind the first two are more familiar faces, Charles and Austin Rex. Charles' features are bright as he enters the room. "What, no beer? Where's the booze?" Charles asks, spreading his arms in a gesture of disbelief. Realizing they're superior officers, each of us snap to our feet instinctively and salute them. "They're so green you could put 'em in a salad!" the ODST with the burned face says with a laugh. "Oh shut it, George," Charles says, shoving the ODST aside. "At ease, Spartans. It is your celebration after all." The ODST's stand respectively near the doorway, but Charles motions us outside. I start towards the door and jerk my chin outside, gesturing for my team to follow.
"We're going to show you how to celebrate. ODST style!" the one named George says, stepping ahead of us. "Booze, clubs, bars. Your first day as a Sergeant is going to rock!" the ODST with the head scar says. I stop walking and look at them with a furrowed brow. "Captain Jameson hasen't give us leave," I say firmly. I don't dare disobey the Captain. If I've learned anything from Hokai, it's to respect your commander.
But Charles holds up a set of cards. "It's for a 'military' reason. You guys need credit cards if you're going to be Soldiers," he says. "As long as we stay inside the capitol city, we're golden!" George says.
And so we left the Faithful and took a Pelican to the massive space station orbiting Kanteo III. Inside of the space station is a massive hub of activity. Loads of transport coming and going from the connecting elevator, people going about their business. But what takes me by surprise was the AI that greeted us once we enter the station.
On a waist high pedestal, a hologram suddenly projects itself. It's a brown color and stands at about four feet. The Avatar is a young man dressed in a tuxedo with a black fedora. "Welcome to Kanteo. I am Antero, this space station's AI. I can assist you with anything you need while aboard this humble station," the AI says. Its voice is even and smooth, as if it were someone at a fancy dress party. "We need some credit cards for these four. Do we do that here or on the planet?" Charles asks, stepping forward to look at the AI. The AI turns to look at him and gives him a smile. "Military offices are located on main street of Kanteo's capitol. You may acquire credit cards and more there," it tells him. "Ah, perfect! Thanks for the help, Antero," Charles says and begins walking down the hallway. Antero nods politely to him before disappearing.
"Was that an AI?" I ask Charles, picking up my pace a little to walk side-by-side with him. "Yep. Antero mans the space station here. Handles incoming and outgoing cargo, including people. Very polite guy, doesn't anger easily," Charles says. The ODST with the head scar laughs from behind us. "You would know! I dare you to piss him off again, Charles. He'll send you out the airlock, I'll bet on it."
I look at Charles curiously but he turns around and begins walking backwards while talking. "Shove it up your rear-entrance, Jaff!" he says. "Save the fighting for when we're drunk!" George calls from behind. "There will be plenty of it."
"You're just afraid I'll whup your ass again," Jaff, the ODST with the head scar, taunts. "Oh yeah? Fifty dollars that you'll go down before you can even get a swing out," Charles shoots back. "You're on! By the end of the night, you'll be called 'one hitter quitter'," Jaff says.
The lights in the section of the tunnel we're in suddenly flickers and an audible groaning sound from the hull can be heard. "No bickering on my station, please," Artero says politely. "Or I might take up on mister Janer Jaff's offer."
The capitol city is even more busy than the space station. Cars fill the streets, almost outnumbering the sheer amount of people flooding the sidewalks and stores. I'm glad we have Charles and his team to help us through, because I'm not sure we would have ever been able to navigate through all of this.
As we drop down through the busy traffic, I realize that there are massive advertisements filling the upper halves of the buildings. They flash different products of beauty, beverages, and sports along with many other strange things. Once we finally reach the UNSC offices, I am more than glad to be getting out of it all.
The offices are fairly quiet and filled with soldiers, most of whom are in their Battle Dress Uniforms. None of them carry weapons, however. It unerves me to think that so many soldiers will be unarmed if there would be an enemy attack...but nevermind those thoughts. We're here to celebrate.
It takes about an hour but Charles finally comes back with four credit cards assigned to each of our names. "They're linked with your military bank account. The money you spend on this is taken from your military money. As long as you're not an idiot, you won't spend it all," Charles says and hands us the cards.
We take a personal transport that George rents out and begin "cruising" the streets. The ODST's point out every store and attraction that they recognize, which is quite a few. I find it hard to focus on them with all of the people rushing about. But I decide to play along. "How is it you know what so much stuff is here?" I ask the ODST's after a small pause in their chatter. "Austin and I grew up here. We visit every time we have leave," Charles answers. George, the one who is driving, turns his head slightly to look at Jaff, the passenger. "We're looking for Taprock, right?" he asks. Jaff looks up and nods. "Yeah. Should be another mile on the right," he answers.
We come to a four way intersection which seems nicely choreographed. That is until an impatient driver decides to run the light and comes within inches of ramming right into the side of our car. George jerks the wheel (he had been driving manually instead of letting the auto-pilot take over) and the car lurches out of the other's way. "You fuckin' idiot!" Jaff roars, sticking his head out of the window. The driver of the car that had almost hit us straightens his car out and flip us the bird before going on his way. "I swear, I would almost prefer Scorpion drivers over civilian ones," Jaff grumbles.
A few minutes later, a large sign advertising "SHAMROCK TAPHOUSE. OPEN 24/7. COME IN FOR A DRINK!" appears and George exclaims in triumph. "Finally! We can drink our hearts out. Might even be literal," he says.
As it turns out, the bar is actually fairly quiet. There are sections for smokers and non-smokers. The smoking area is quite a bit louder than the non-smoking one. "Oh, hell yes! They brought the girls back," Jaff says, pumping a fist. "Keep my tab open but keep the bill under three hundred. You know where I'll be." Jaff heads into the noisy room after giving Charles his card. I peek into where he went and my cheeks instantly become hot once I see the scantily clad women on the stage. Charles must have noticed me because he gives a laugh and steers me towards the bar. "There will come a time, Jackson, that you'll want a piece of that. But for now, lets just keep it on the mild side," he says.
We come to a low bar rung with stools and a marble countertop. Drinks sit on the rear shelf and on the counter itself. My team joins me on the stools after Charles pats them. A blaring TV sits behind us and spurts out local news that I have no clue about. I try not to pay attention to everyone around me and just on Charles who is talking to the bartender. Charles hands the man George's card and the bartender produces six drinks. He slides the glasses over to each of us and goes about his business. "Tonight, you become real men!" Charles says, lifting his glass and taking a long swig.
I consider what happened last time I had a drink, and decide against another. But my team doesn't. 211 downs the glass quickly and burps loudly. I think about reprimanding him but shrug it off as this is our day off. No regulations, no rules. We're just a couple of soldiers out celebrating.
211 goes off to join Jaff doing hell-knows-what and Charles stays with Parkson, Kia, and I. Charles begins talking to us about his adventures since we last met him and about his team. As it turns out, he was on Thrug as well. His team got stranded after the UNSC pulled out because their SOIV's were shot off-course right before the admiral gave the pull-out order. They survived for a week before the UNSC was able to come back for them.
We tell him about our adventures throughout our past year. What we had seen and done. During my recollection, I notice that a strange looking soldier had sat next to Kia and kept eyeing her. I recognize him as an Army Soldier. But his head keeps slumping and his eyes seem glazed over, unfocused. Kia was ignoring him for the most part and just keeps watching the TV, intruguied by a military story that had come on.
211 returns without Jaff and looks as happy as ever. It had been about an hour they were gone. "Where did you go?" I ask 211 curiously. "We found George in one of the back rooms and...well..." 211's blush grew deeper. "Lets just say it involved a lady." I was about to question him more when I heard the soldier next to Kia speak up.
"So...you come here often?" he asks. Kia slowly looks at him, unsure as to how to respond. "Um...no. This is my first time," she says slowly. "Well, let me recommend the Hornet 69. It's...fantastic," the soldier says, drawing out his last words. I've always made an effort to try and respect my teammate's privacy and free-will. But this creep is obviously making her uncomfortable.
Just as I was thinking of a way to politely get rid of him, 211 turns to face him, his expression sour. "Why don't you lay off?" he growls. But his words are slurred and I think he might have gotten...intoxicated. "I'll do what I damn want! What are you? Her boyfriend?" the Army Soldier says angrily. 211's temper flares and his stool goes skittering across the ground as he stands up, his fingers balling into fists. "No. I'm her teammate, you stupid Army puke," 211 says. "and I'm telling you to leave her alone!"
The soldier gets up as well and the two get inches from each other's face. I tense up, waiting for the fight that I know is coming. "Why don't you fuckin' make me?!" the soldier demands. He brings up his hands and shoves 211. Being 211 and having a short temper, my teammate instantly comes back with a punch.
Had 211 been sober, the hit might have broken his jaw. But 211's form was off and the hit only makes the soldier reel backwards, groaning. Upon seeing the commotion, five other Army soldiers approach 211, and they look just as drunk.
"Hey, what the hell is going on over here?" one of the burlier soldiers asks, his pale cheeks flushed a bright red. The one that 211 hit stands up and wipes the blood off of his cheek. "The bastard hit me!" he yells. "And I'll do it again!" 211 slurs.
I stand up and hold up my hands to try and break the tension. "It was just a misunderstanding. I'm sure 211 didn't really mean it," I say. Wrong choice of words. "I meant it! And I'll knock you out if you try that again," 211 says. "The hell that you will! You got a lucky hit. It won't happen again," the first Army soldier says.
I don't really know who went first, but before I knew it, I was being swarmed by six drunk and angry soldiers.
211 could have easily been overtaken in his intoxicated state, so I stood up for him. Time slows as the Army men charge us. I assess each soldier and instantly come up with a plan of attack. And like the highly trained killing machine I am, I fight them like they're enemies who are trying to kill us.
The first soldier goes down when I grab his arm and swipe my leg under his. I keep him down with a swift punch to his temporal bone. One that had been going for 211 finds his arm wrenched up behind his back and a boot in his spine. The last three quickly turn on me and try to come at me all at once. Had they been just a little bit more sober, they would have overtaken me. But the alchohol in their systems make them clumsy and un-coordinated. Their fists miss me by several inches and their boots don't get anywhere near me. I take out two birds with one stone by making two of the Army men run into each other when they try a clumsy pincer maneuver. And the last backs away, frightened.
He suddenly sobers up once he realizes what I am. "Freak!" he hisses. "Kicked your ass," 211 mutters, glaring at the last soldier. "I won't hurt you if you don't engage," I promise the Army man. He takes the chance and runs straight out of the bar and nearly falls over himself.
Just then, a tall man with a CO's bars appears. He glares at the men on the floor, then at me. "Who's your Commanding Officer?" He growls. "Not your business," I say guardedly. Technically, I am. Whenever we're out of the ship, I take on the roll of Commanding Officer. But I wasn't about to tell this guy that. "Your chain's going to hear about this if you don't tell me," the officer threatens. I don't respond well to threats, so I turn and glare into his eyes. "Go ahead," I snarl. And with that, the Officer turns on his heel and storms out of the bar, practically dragging the last five soldiers with him.
Charles returns a while later and cocks an eyebrow at me upon seeing 211. "What's wrong with him?" he asks. "He's pretty drunk. This is his first time drinking," I explain. "Really? Probably shouldn't have given him the strongest drink, then..." Charles says innocently. I shake my head with a chuckle and look towards the smoking room and find Jaff and George walking back towards us, laughing heartily. "You ready to hit the road?" Charles asks them. "Maybe," George says. "What's it to you?!" Jaff smacks him in the back of the head. "Shut it, buttbait. Lets get going. I've got a very sensual date with my bed," Jaff says.
I look around for Austin but don't find him. "Where's your brother?" I ask Charles. "Probably back in the car. He doesn't like bars much," Charles answers.
And with that, we leave the bar behind and rent out a hotel room for the night. There's no way the drunk ones would make it back to the Faithful in one piece.
211, Jaff, George, and Parkson pass out the instant we get into the rooms. Parkson had drank quite a bit along with the others but only reacted by getting very tired instead of violent or something like that. Austin hadn't drank at all and stayed up with me and Charles watching TV. Kia had gotten almost as drunk as 211 and went down pretty quick after she had gotten something to eat.
And so ends our first day of celebration. I hadn't enjoyed it as much as the others obviously did. But I guess that's why 211 calls me a killjoy.