Chapter LXXI: Moar Frends!

July 18, 2542 (UNSC Calendar)/

Leseath Base XI, Alpha Charus II, Alpha Charus System

Well shit.

"Really?" Albaf asked nervously. "That's rather impressive. I don't understand why it's not on your resume."
The ability in question was in fact on the dossier, but there was absolutely no reason why we would want to discuss it in this scenario. Actually, I can't think of any reason why anyone would want to talk about that ability in particular under any circumstances at all. And believe me when I say it: at all.

"Thank you for your time," I replied.

"Sure, no problem."

The first interviewee left the room and closed the door as soon as he was out of the room. I could actually feel the vomit at the back of my throat.

"I do not want that man on my team," I said. "Ever."

"Agreed."

"Why would he even… ugh," I couldn't even understand the reason why he thought it would be a good idea to tell us about that. "Disgusting."

"Let's. Let's just forget about that," Albaf suggested. "And never talk about it again."

"You got it."

We both shuddered as little shivers crept up and down our spines and shook our heads as if that act alone could wipe our memories clean. What I needed right now was some brain bleach. A simple concussion with mild memory loss would do, but I wanted to be sure that I would never think about what I had just heard ever again in my entire life. What. The. Fuck.

"Next!" I shouted. I wanted this over as quickly as possible.

The door opened to reveal our second interviewee of the day and only our second on the planet. Physically speaking, he wasn't a particularly impressive specimen. The man was about 5'9, a decent height if you ask anyone, but compared to the three men that were already in my squad he was a little short. Just two inches taller than Camilla, but at least taller. He had a skinny build, but even I could tell that he was muscular, even if those muscles were wiry. The shirt he was wearing was a size too large for him and his shoulders were slightly hunched, his head hung downwards just slightly and his hands were in his pockets. My first impression was that this man shouldn't have made it pass basic selection, and then I remembered that he had lived all his childhood and teenage years in the slums of Mumbai. Corporal Naveen Avninder was, according to his test scores, the twelfth best marksman in the entire UNSC Military. Twelfth. Out of at least a couple of million specialized marksmen. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Of course you don't, you've never achieved anything that awesome in your entire life and probably never will.

Well, back to Naveen. I knew that his hunched and defenseless appearance was a look that he had cultivated over seventeen years of leaving in the rough and unforgiving slums of Mumbai. Apparently he had made it all the way until he was able to join the military unscathed thanks to a combination of being able to blend in and look harmless as well as the equally important ability of kicking the living shit out of anybody that gave him a bad attitude.

The moment he let himself fall down on the chair in front of me I knew that I wanted him on my team.

"Corporal Naveen Avninder," I stated. "Welcome." The only response I got was a small nod and the man glancing away from me nervously. At least that was the impression that he gave when his eyes looked away from mine after an instant of eye contact. "Your dossier," I continued. "Is rather impressive." I tossed the manila envelope at him. "What can you say about that?"

"I'm just doing my job," Naveen replied quietly, there was no discernible accent in his voice. Considering that just six years ago he was still living in India, that was quite a feat in my book, even if it wasn't directly relevant to his job.

"And rather well at that," Albaf chimed in. "Tell us, what pushed you to join the military?"

"It was either that or staying back home," he replied.

"So you chose a different kind of hell," I summed up. "The amount of time it took you to jump from the Corps to the Shock Troopers is rather impressive," I said. "Any reason in particular that you think that happened?"

"You said it," Naveen replied. "I'm rather good at doing my job."

"No one questions your prowess with an SRS or an EMR," Albaf said. "But what can you tell us about your experience in more… 'up close and personal' type of combat?"

Naveen had no way out of this one, he had to give an answer that was longer than five words in a row. "Well…" he started. "I am decent enough with a pistol, and sometimes I take an M7 on my assignments."

"Can you please elaborate?"

Naveen shrugged and scratched his neck uncomfortably. "Well, I usually notice when my position is about to be overrun, I try to take out the big ones and then the few that make it are easy game. Besides, I passed all my weapons proficiency tests with excellent grades, I can handle myself without my rifle."

That in itself wasn't particularly impressive. I had yet to see one ODST that hadn't passed every single weapon's proficiency test with more than 90% success rating in every single weapon. Of course, firing at a stationary target that doesn't shoot back does tend to ease things up a little bit. Make them easier, you know?

"It says here," I told him, "that you're not very good at teamwork. Apparently you've had trouble working with your past squads. A lone wolf, that's what they call you here."

"I'm better alone," he said.

"No, in real life, lone wolves die because they can't hunt and the pack survives. In real life, you've been too goddamn lucky to have survived this long with all those stunts you pulled," Albaf said. I swear, she was that close to slamming her hands on the table, and her outburst made the sniper shift uncomfortably on his chair. "In fact, there's been at least one case when your actions directly influenced the death of one of your teammates."

The incident was in his dossier, it took at least one quarter of his file, detailing how Naveen had failed to comply with a fall-back order, that was the first link in a chain series of events that ended up with a ghost ramming one of his fellow ODSTs to a wall and almost breaking her in half through sheer force of impact alone. He had been transferred to another squad soon afterwards.

"That was not my fault," Naveen said defensively, "our sergeant was supposed to be covering that sector and he wasn't that's why the ghost got through," he said, almost yelling.

"Why wasn't he covering that sector?" I asked even though I already knew the answer.

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"Why?" I asked, this time more insistently.

"I don't know."

"Why?" I stood up and slammed my hands hard on the table, eliciting no response from the man in front of me.

Naveen slowly lifted his head and looked me in the eye. His expression was completely changed and for a moment there he looked like a soldier and not like a kid half scared to death. "Because he was covering my sector," he finally said. "He was covering the street I should've been covering."

"Good," I said. "Now that we've got that behind us, we can continue this interview."

"Very well," Albaf said, straightening her files absent-mindedly. "It says here that you've received all the marksmanship medals that are available to…

"I want that gal leading her own team now," I said. "Make her a sergeant and give her her own fucking team, I have no idea what she's doing as a lance corporal," I said.

"Really? I would've thought that you'd want someone as good as her serving under you," Albaf said.

"No, she's too good a leader not to have her own squad. Besides, she may be skilled, but those sets of skills are already covered," I said. "I'm serious about giving her command of a squad."

"I'll have that looked into," Albaf said.

The woman that had just left this room was a shining example of everything a soldier should be, she had a gazillion recommendations from her superiors and there wasn't anything on her dossier that wasn't praise for her bravery and abilities. She had rallied men and won decisive skirmishes that had influenced in turning the tide of a battle and had single-handedly rescued her squad when they were pinned down and she was the only one that was able to escape. She was inspiration and leadership incarnated, she had no reason to be serving under someone else.

"Gee Francisco, I wouldn't have thought you to be so selfless."

Fuck you Schitzo, I thought while reaching for my pocket and opening the meds without having the bottle leave my pocket.

"You say something?" Commander Albaf asked.

"What?" I said as I pretended to yawn. "No." I popped my meds into my mouth while I was pretending to politely cover it. Schitzo shook his head creepily and then the heavy metal door that led into the room slammed into him. When the door was closed again he was gone and I had to suppress a chill. I still could not get used to the disappearances. They creeped the shit out of me.

"So, Lance Corporal Arcangelo Lamberti," I greeted the man. That's probably the most flamboyantly awesome name I've ever heard. "I hear you're a man that can get me to places that nobody else can."

Quick interruption. Ten points to whoever guesses what Arcangelo means, you've got three tries.

"What?"

"Sorry, that probably sounded a little dirtier than it did when I thought about it," I said.

"No worries," Lamberti said with a smile. Albaf simply rolled her eyes at our childlike minds and decided to take point.

"Lance Corporal, as my colleague here said, it seems that you are exceedingly good at cracking security systems, both human or otherwise," she said. "And whenever that doesn't work…"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with the occasional explosion," I said. I couldn't forget about my own fascination and moderate talent with explosives. "Explosives can be both tools and weapons, right Lance Corporal?"

"That's my motto," he smiled.

"Mister Lamberti, where did you learn computer programming?" Albaf asked. She knew the answer damn well, but it was still her obligation to ask.

The man reached for his own dossier. "May I?" he asked. When he received a nod in reply he grabbed the folder and quickly rifled through it until he found what he was looking for. "Lamberti taught himself to program at an early age, once he had mastered the art, open parenthesis, which took him remarkably little time, showing he had a natural talent for that, natural talent he, I like that."
"Do go on, please," I said.

"Sorry, close parenthesis, he immediately put his newfound skills to use. Lamberti used his technological know-how in several illegal ventures that quickly made him several hundred thousand dollars."

"And…"

"And I was caught," Lamberti said. "End of the story. Well, that story at least," he shrugged.

"Then you joined the Corps," I said. "It was either that or prison. Most men choose prison, especially when under those circumstances I hear that 'Convicted Bootcamp' is quite the hellish place."

"Yeah," Lamberti shrugged uncomfortably. "Not many good memories from that one."

I glanced at his file again and wondered how it had happened. Lamberti had almost gotten killed twice in bootcamp. The first time was because three recruits had beat him half to death for some random situation and the second time was because the drill sergeants had beaten him half to death after he put one of the guys that had originally beaten him up in a coma and the other two in the hospital for two weeks. His profile said that he had hit the gym constantly and started taking food supplements. He also took additional boxing lessons that one of the drill sergeants offered him. An old man that took pity on Lamberti.

The way I pictured the story in my mind I could make an entire movie out of the situation. Happy-go-lucky kid gets in the wrong situation and ends up in jail (or the equivalent) where he doesn't fit in. Finally he gets the help of an old man that acts as his father figure and mentor and redeems himself while kicking ass. Yeah, I'm sure I could make an Academy Award winner out of that situation. Well, at the very least it would win a People's Choice Awards award.

"Your file is very impressive," Albaf admitted.

"Thank you."

"Most of it not in a good way," she continued. "Or at least not in a very good way. You love explosions, you cannot deny that, but we're worried that perhaps you love them a little bit too much."

"I uh… ah?"

"There have been several incidents in particular where you went overboard with explosives," I said. "The Siege of Atlas Moons comes to mind."
"Yeah, that," he chuckled nervously. "The tanker was right there, I saw an opportunity and I took it."
Let me put this statement in perspective. The tanker was full of the liquid hydrogen fuel that was used in hydrogen fuel cells. It blew up the entire port and a good chunk of the city. Oh, I forgot, it was a ship, a ship over three kilometers long that transported the volatile liquid from one continent to another. The explosion alone had leveled over thirty blocks. Most of them were filled with aliens, granted, but there were several friendly units within blast radius when the bombs were activated.

"Your orders were to fall back to the tanker and await evac," I said.

"Which I did," Lamberti argued.

"There was no mention of placing any kind of explosives near the ship."

"Well, sometimes you've got to improvise," he said.

"That I'll give you Mister Lamberti," Albaf said. "Well, let's talk about something else. It says here you had a hard time… fraternizing with your squadmates. Apparently you weren't compatible. You tried to transfer several times, but all your requests were denied."

"Yeah, seems to be its part of the deal having to serve your military time with convicted psychopaths." I only raised an eyebrow at the slight hypocrisy, but allowed him to go on uninterrupted. "By the time our sentence was over, I was the only one alive of the original squad. Don't get me wrong, I am not really sad those assholes died, but I had nowhere to go."

"So you enlisted. Properly this time."

"Yes, my first tour of duty actually counted when it came to requisites for joining the Helljumpers. As soon as I had enough months under my belt I took my chance and jumped into bootcamp."

"Yeah, I wonder how you managed to get accepted into ODST training without any recommendations whatsoever…" I said.

"That is hardly the point here Staff Sergeant," Albaf said. "And aren't you being a little hypocritical?"

This time it was Arcangelo Lamberti who raised his eyebrow while looking at me quizzically, as if he was reevaluating me completely. Perhaps he thought that I was a convict just like him. It would be disappointing to let him down when he asked. Oh, did I mention that I had decided to get this guy in my team? No? Well, I just did.

Two interviews later I saw one of the biggest men I had seen in my entire life walk inside the room. When I say big I mean big. I'm a pretty tall guy in my own right, plus two inches worth of state-classified muscle and bone enhancers. I'm also muscular even if not overly big (yeah, that means I've got the perfect body without going overboard. Fuck yeah). Pavel is also pretty tall and slightly bigger (muscle-wise) than me, with broader shoulders and bigger arms, even if they aren't exceedingly big either. Oh, I also have a kick ass six-pack, but I really shouldn't brag. Well this man was fucking huge. That's right, you have to put the word 'fucking' ahead of huge. That's how big this man was. Fucking. Huge.

George Manuel Sutton was exactly seven feet tall, according to his dossier, but the sheer amount of muscle mass that this man boasted made him look five times bigger. Sutton looked like a basketball player, tall and muscular, very muscular. His skin was as dark as midnight on Gliese 581 g and I was immediately looking for ways to neutralize this man if he suddenly decided to go berserk. The nondescript room provided little opportunity for blunt weapons other than the table and walls. I suddenly remembered that my pistol was holstered to my hip and fell a whole lot safer.

"Mr. Sutton, please sit down," Albaf ordered.

"Yes ma'am."

The man had a deep rumbling voice that reminded me of some movie actor or other, but in a weird, totally non-homosexual way, it was soothing and calming. He sat down on the chair and the metal groaned with stress as soon as the chair was forced to support his weight. At almost three hundred pounds, I wasn't surprised.

"Private First Class, joined the corps at the age of nineteen, why is that?"

Sutton laughed a little bit, giving me the sensation that the entire room was shaking. "Your propaganda is really good. For a while there I thought we would actually be winning when we fought."

I was forced to suppress a smile, that's the same reason I decided to jump right into the Helljumpers. Albaf on the other hand, was forced to chastise the man for making comments that could deplete the morale of his fellow soldiers. At least he was telling the truth, it wasn't like we were exactly winning. Or even giving them much of a fight really.

"Ok-" I said, interrupting Albaf's rant about the need for high morale on the military. "I think we have that cleared up now. Mr. Sutton, why don't you tell us a little bit about your experience in the military?"

"Well I think I can say that it's been average enough. I've been deployed to eight different engagements…" All of those engagements had been losses with extremely high casualties for the UNSC "…six of them as a regular and the other two as a shock trooper."

"It says here that you've received several commendations for bravery under enemy fire," I said. "Can you tell us about that."

"I think that receiving a commendation might've been a little bit of an exaggeration by whoever decided to give me that, I was only doing what I was supposed to do."

"Which was?"

"I used to provide covering fire to allow for my squad to fall back most of the time," he said with a shrug that lifted his gigantic shoulders and let them fall back down slowly. "I received a medal just for being lucky once," he said.

"Do you mean the incident in… the Atlas Moons?"

"Yes, it was just a lucky shot," he said.

"Lucky or not, that shot saved a dozen lives," Albaf said.

"And apparently it was made while under heavy enemy fire and with no cover whatsoever. The citation says that you hopped on top of a flaming car to get a clear shot and fired your grenade launcher at the banshee."

"I think you're giving me to much credit," Sutton complained.

"No, I think you're not giving yourself enough," Albaf said.

AS far as this interview is concerned, it was by far the most normal of all the interviews that I had conducted so far. At the very least it was the less weird one of all. The PFC in front of me was polite and modest, something which you usually have a hard time finding in the Corps. And this man was a Helljumper, he had a right to be a cocky asshole and get away with it if he wanted to. Suttton had joined the ODSTs after his squad sergeant pushed him to do it. He had several letters of recommendation from his superiors all the way up to a light colonel. He was described in several performance reports as a "Nice, reliable, and friendly guy" that would always have your back no matter what the situation. While it wasn't written anywhere in his dossier, there were several things that implied PFC George Sutton had helped a few of his squadmates outside the line of duty. Knowing marines it was obvious that he had helped a few of them score some chicks.

"Ok, one last question," Albaf said. "What do you feel about the Covenant?"

"I'm sorry?" Sutton asked, confused at the question. "Well, I don't really feel anything, they're just targets."

"Thank you, you may leave," I said.

"Staff Sergeant, Ma'am."

The huge man stood up from the chair and left the room, moving his head sideways so that it didn't hit the frame of the door. The door was closed behind him and Albaf and I were left to ourselves to discuss the latest interview.

"He doesn't hate the Covenant?" I asked. "That's a new one."

"It says in his dossier that his whole family is alive and well. They live in New York, a mom, a dad, three sisters, two brothers. Hell even all his grandparents are still alive and kicking. You don't meet a lot of people in the Corps with intact families."

"Yes, but you don't meet anyone that doesn't want to exterminate every last covvie in the universe with extreme prejudice. Everyone hates the covvies."

"There could be some advantages to having a man on your team that can work with mechanical precision," Albaf suggested.

"All ODSTs are mechanical, no matter how much we might hate those aliens we never go overboard and risk the mission."

Commander Albaf didn't say anything, instead she pulled out a datapad and tapped in a few commands. A second later she handed it to me and I was looking at a drone-taken picture of a dead elite's face. Well, what was left of that face. I recognized the elite and its surroundings quickly as they were still fresh in my mind. It was the squid face that I had kicked in the knee joint and then emptied half my magazine on its face.

"I think one or two bullets would've been more than enough," she suggested to me.

I had no excuse for that one. I was still mentally fit at the time and had no particular reason to waste ten rounds of precious ammunition on an elite that was already dead and harmless. I had to admit that it does feel good to go overboard some times. So far it hasn't caused me any danger or risked the mission. So far.

"Ok, maybe we're not exactly mechanical, but we're as close as it gets," I said with a dismissing shrug. "You can't expect us not to harbor feelings towards those aliens, half our families are dead because of them," I added.

"I don't blame you for that," she said, "you still might need someone to keep your team level headed. Explosive loving Scotsman, explosive loving hacker ex-convict, overachieving girl with some self-esteem issues, shy street rat with repressed anger. And well, you."

"What about Pavel?" I asked.

"I always pictured Sergeant Klaus as the level-headed one in the team," she said.

"What? How can you-"

This changes everything.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" the commander said. "Still, you need someone to keep your team in check. Sutton has been known to pull enraged teammates back to cover when they went postal."

"Fine, I was seriously considering the guy, but I don't think that that's the right reason for it."

"Whatever," Albaf said. "He's in."

"That makes seven," I said. "And two more interviews to do," I said.

"We'll save those for tomorrow," Albaf said. "I'm tired." Then she proceeded to rub her eyes and stretch, completely shattering the theory that Pavel and I had toyed with that she was an android from the government sent to check on us. She was certainly attractive enough to be a super robot, at least super robots were all hot chicks in the movies.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow commander," I said as I lifted myself up from the chair. Right now there was nothing I wanted more than a nice soft hotel bed and more pillows than I could possibly have need for.

Hey guys, I'm back from my lovely vacations in Acapulco. I had fun and sun and even left my room a few times. No internet for two weeks. Wow, I'm really proud of myself.

Happy New Year!

Hope you enjoyed your vacations!

What did Santa bring you guys?

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Of the previous four sentences I only mean the ones that end up with exclamation marks. Love you guys.

-casquis