Chapter CLXXXV: Through the Eyes of the Beholder

February 13, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/five months later

Esztergom (Ezhtergom), Viery Territory, Reach, Epsilon Eridani System

Sergeant Roderic Mata

"Testis unus, testis nullus."

"Ah, Sergeant Mata, is it?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, putting down my two duffels and giving my new commanding officer a smart salute. I had only met him once before and then it was a brief meeting, but it didn't hurt to give good second impressions.

He saluted back with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was the smile of someone that had seen too much. I knew a lot of people that had a smile like that one. For a few years even I had that same fake smile. Then I just stopped smiling.

"Welcome aboard," he told me, shaking my hand. The lieutenant looked around and then back to me before shrugging. "Normally I'd say this on board an actual ship, but we haven't been assigned to a ship yet."

"Sir?"

"Never mind," he dismissed me with a wave of his hand. "Come."

I picked up both of my duffels with a suppressed grunt and started walking behind him. This base was a relatively small one compared to others in Reach. Only a single division was permanently garrisoned here. They didn't even have an air wing. To top it off, this was an Army base. I might have not been the smartest one of the bunch, but I knew that Marines and Army had segregated bases with the occasional exception in the form of a Joint Operations Base. However, this seemed to be purely an Army garrison. I could've understood being in a Navy base, but this just seemed unusual.

The again, there was nothing 'usual' about my current situation. Plucked out of what was left of my unit by a couple of ONI spooks to be reassigned into this so-called AAG. I think I might've heard someone mention those initials some time ago, but I had never really heard of this unit until the moment I got assigned to it. On one hand I was proud of myself, but mostly I was confused. Being drafted into the ODSTs is one thing, but being drafted from the ODSTs is a completely different matter that leaves you confused and questioning a lot of your beliefs.

"Yeah, I didn't like being garrisoned here at first," the lieutenant said, "but some compromises had to be made. As you know, the AAG is a joint unit overseen by ONI, right?"

"Right," I replied, trying not to sound strained by the weight of my duffels.

"Need some help?" he asked me.

Apparently my effort was for naught.

Before I could say anything my new CO grabbed one of the duffels and propped it over his shoulder. "Damn, did they tell you to pack your weapons too?"

"Sentimental value, sir."

"Of course, of course," he muttered. "I see your armor also holds sentimental value."

"It's saved my life more than a couple of times."

"That's what armor does."

We walked through the base in relative silence, with him only asking me a few token questions about my background and how I felt about my new assignment. I responded with the appropriate mix of excitement and professionalism, not sounding too eager or bored with my new unit. Truth be told, the only thing that actually surprised me was the realization that the lieutenant was in his thirties. Most El-tees were usually in their mid or late twenties, but this guy was a bit older than the norm. Perhaps he had refused a promotion to stay with his men, but any jarhead with half a brain would accept every promotion available to get further and further away from the frontlines. I know I would.

Perhaps this officer had been an enlisted Marine before going off to the dark side, but those things rarely happened. In any case, it was not important so long as he proved to be a good leader that would keep me and my new comrades-in-arms alive.

"So, most of the men here have been serving with me for at least a couple of years," he said. "They are the band of brothers that all those campaign posters seem to be talking about. I'm only telling you this so that you're not thrown off by all the inside jokes and natural distrusting attitude that they'll have towards you, ok?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You can also expect to be treated as a recruit as opposed to a higher-ranking Marine."

"Sir?"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mata, but even if I constantly intervene it'll take some time for that to change. I'm hoping that the acclamatory exercises will fix that… if not then I'll see what I can do about it."

I was still confused, but I said nothing. Back in the Corps I had been taught that discipline was everything. When I joined the ODST I learned that it wasn't quite as important as the regular Jarheads had made it out to be, but when push came to shove everyone would follow an order from a superior officer. I just hoped that the situation here would be similar. I would really hate it if someone died because they decided that me sending them off to flank an enemy unit was an unlawful order or some such bullshit.

"Well, here we are," he said finally. "ONI managed to get us three barracks buildings and a large section of the base for personal use. The old team is in here, the newcomers should arrive tomorrow and the day after that."

"Why am I the first one here, sir?" I asked. "I know I'm not going to be a platoon sergeant in this unit."

The lieutenant turned around and smiled at me. This time his smile seemed slightly more genuine, but only slightly.

"When ONI told me that I would be choosing my own team I was excited, you know? I was allowed to handpick a squad once before, but the selection process is dull and boring. Last time I simply asked for a number of dossiers on their most talented soldiers. I realize now that it was only by miracle that the personalities of everyone managed to mesh into this perfect thing that allowed us to work as a squad. After that I got different squads, but they didn't quite have that magic, you know?"

"I'm not sure I'm following, sir," I said."

He made a noise that was halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "I specifically asked my superior to give me different types of personalities so that we could work perfectly."

"You're forcing chemistry?"

He nodded, very self-satisfied with himself. "Yeah, read about it somewhere. Still, the funny thing is that they had already thought about it. They really don't want this unit to fail."

"Ok, but that still doesn't explain why I was the first one here."

"You're pretty old for a sergeant, especially considering that we're in the middle of a total war. You're from a very poor background, missing father, abusive mother. Played football, soccer, as a kid. Got into trouble in school, trouble with authority, trouble with just about everyone short of the police. I'm no expert, but apparently this makes you relatable to just about every male from their teens up. Did you ever see Never Back Down?"

"What?"

"Never mind. You'll probably see it soon enough if you get along with Bee."

"What?" I repeated.

"Sorry, I know this is a lot. As I was saying. Since this is a male-dominated line of work, that immediately makes you relatable. What really tops it off though is that you fought your situation and actually became an asset to society. Finished high school and joined the Marines."

I put down my duffel and crossed my arms. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not a movie character."

"No, but real life works a lot like movies. And the new guys are all younger than you. They'll instantly see you as a superior just because of your personal history. My own men might not be so quick, but it'll certainly help."

I leaned slightly backwards, still skeptical. "So you just selected me because I would help the new and old team members work better together?"

He smiled, going back to his fake smile, this time it was laced with a certain amount of contempt. "Yes. I also got you because of your seemingly supernatural ability not to die. You'll find that your ability will become a lot less common once you get used to life here."

I had been under Lieutenant Castillo for a grand total of three minutes and he had already managed to offend me, annoy me, and somehow manage to make me feel like a little kid. The way he explained things to me managed to be make me feel somewhere between a colleague and an ignorant moron. It was mostly the way he said it, like he was so thoroughly convinced that he was superior but making his best effort to hide it. At least he tried to hide it. It's more than can be said about a lot of Helljumpers that I've met.

"Sir," I said simply.

He slapped me in the shoulder and grabbed my other duffel with barely a show of effort. "You don't need to get along with me," he said. "You don't even have to like me or even respect me outside the battlefield. The only thing I ask for you is complete trust. And inside the battlefield you will respect me, you will like me, and you will treat everything I do, say, order, or imply as the complete absolute truth. I once told my first squad that to them I was the one and only god. This same rule will apply to you and everyone else in the unit."

"Understood," I said. Now I really didn't like that guy. He must've been pretty good if he got command of this unit.

"Now, sorry about all the fuss, but this is the main reason why I wanted you here first. If you're going to be the unofficial leader of the newcomers, I want you to understand exactly the dynamic we're going to be having. Once the new team members get here you will be my right hand with them. Not their squad leader, not the older guys, you."

In a twisted kind of way, it made sense to bring me here in order to get the newcomers to treat the lieutenant like he wanted to be treated. He had just gone from friendly to crazy to downright hostile and then to some sort of coldly calculating sociopath. Normally I wouldn't have cared, the Shock Troopers had a reputation for causing mental disorders of all kinds if you survived them long enough. The sheer speed that he switch in between them was slightly troublesome, but ONI wouldn't have cleared him for active duty otherwise, they were good at catching the basket cases that actually presented danger to their fellow humans.

At least that's what I told myself.

"Go in then," I he said, opening the door. "Get to know the team. You get to pick your bed."

Having said that he rather unceremoniously dropped my two duffels on the floor and walked away. Several heads rose at the noise, a few of them went straight back down, but a few others looked at me with what I could only describe as curiosity. At least it wasn't downright hostile.

"Bee, where's Pavel?" Lieutenant Castillo asked a particularly wide-shouldered man.

"Off with Konstantinov," the man replied. "They were talking business apparently."

"Goddamn," he muttered. "I'll be right back. Team, this is Sergeant Roderic Mata." With that introduction he departed.

And there I was, not entirely sure about what I was supposed to do next, thankfully, the broad-shouldered man helped out.

"Hey Sarge," he said, offering me his hand while he lifted one of the duffels. "I'm Rob, lance corporal, but most people here call me Bee."

"Bee?"

"Or Bumblebee if you're feeling fancy," he added. "Long story."

"They all are," I said, grabbing the other duffel and following him.

He chuckled slightly, at least he didn't sound like he was dead inside. It was a refreshing change of pace. "I see you've met our glorious leader. Back when I first met him he was only a staff sergeant, I think. Went through the ranks before going into OCS."

So he was an enlisted Marine…

"We all know he's a little bit weird," he went on. "Some might say crazy, but I'll be damned if he's not the best fighter I've ever seen and the most capable leader I've had the pleasure of serving under." He paused and turned to smile. "Now that we've established that, we can get to know one another."

"Ummm…"

"So, what do you like? In general, I mean. Do you like sports, chess, videogames? Me personally, I love television. Of all kinds really, but mostly old-fashioned."

"Oh, you're one of those," I muttered.

He actually laughed. "That's what everyone says. Which bed?"

"What?"

"Which bed?" he repeated.

"This one's fine," I said, tossing my duffel into one cot.

"As I was saying, everyone is initially annoyed and then they just happen to become another one of my kind."

I sighed quietly. "What so you like?"

"Movies and series. The very first ones."

"At least you're not one of those stuck in the twenty-third century."

He nodded. "A sad age for visual media, but we don't really talk about that."

What a peculiar man. I would've been more judgmental had his biceps not been the size of my neck. I was pretty strong myself, with larger-than-average muscles, but a lot of guys went overboard with their workouts. Sometimes it looked like they wouldn't be able to press their arms to their sides because there would be too much muscle in the way.

I rolled my eyes at myself. Sometimes I found myself paying too much attention to silly things like that, lately I had begun suspecting that it was a slight complex of inferiority that rooted from my mother's annoyingly broad shoulders and big arms. No wonder I didn't like women all that much. Perhaps it also had to do something with her constantly beating me. Well, doesn't matter much, does it?

"Come, I'll introduce you," he said. "Not everyone's here, but they can wait."

I shrugged and followed. I had nothing better to do and I could always unpack later. Besides, I hated unpacking. Bee led me back out to the section of the barracks that functioned as a common room.

"That guy over there is Marvin Mobuto, we call him Marv. I haven't served in his squad or platoon yet, but I hear that he's almost as good as killing as the El-tee is."

"Some say better," Marv said.

"Only you say that," a woman scoffed.

"That little ray of sunshine over there is Andrea Livingston, or Andy. She's a medic but not a corpsman. Has an annoying tendency to get shot. I still don't know if I want to get close to her or away from her. Bullets could hit me by accident or just be attracted to her instead of me."

"Very funny," she said. "It's not like you were there for any of those occasions."

Bee shrugged. "Oh, trust me. Your accidents were the talk of the Company. But moving on, we have Snark."

"Why do you call him that?" I asked.

All conversations died and everyone turned to look at me. For a moment I felt pathetically close to what the new kid in school would feel like.

The man in question, Snark, as he was called, lowered his datapad and looked at me with a raised eyebrow that managed to convey levels upon levels of amusement.

"You get a free pass because you're new," he said.

"He's called Snark because he snarks a lot," Bee helpfully said. "He's also the fourteenth best marksman in the entire UNSC Defense Forces."

"Fourteenth," I said. "Impressive."

"It used to be number twelve," Bee informed me. "But age… you know how it is."

"And you won't let me forget about it," Snark muttered under his breath, raising his datapad once again.

"Anyways," Bee went on. "His full name is Naveen Avninder, but nobody calls him that. Mostly because we can't pronounce it right."

"God forbid your tongue from having to enunciate a 'v' followed by an 'n.'"

There was a certain amount of snarkiness to him. At least the nickname was indicative. You wouldn't believe the nicknames that people get. I once heard about a guy that was called Volcano because of a particularly bad case of diarrhea. If they wanted to mock him they would've just called him something like Drippy or perhaps Liquid. Both sounded relatively harmless but were more to the point. Volcano sounded almost badass if you think about it.

"So we have Snark, Andy, and Marv over here," Bee said. "And here we have Sasha and James. For some reason we call them by their considerably longer last names; Dotsenko and Ramirez respectively. I've known these two for the shortest amount of time, but I can tell you that they're great machine gunners, are very burly, and you'll rarely find them apart from one another."

"We're not gay," Ramirez said. "And his description hardly gives me credit, but it pretty much sums him up."

"Right," Dotsenko added. "He should've mentioned your lacking in that department."

"You sure you're not gay?" I asked jokingly.

Bee laughed and slapped my shoulder. I had just met the guy, it felt weird that he treated me like an old friend. Weird in a bad way.

"He means this," Ramirez said, propping his left leg on the table and pulling up his pants to reveal an artificial limb. "State of the art, turns out mommy dearest had quite a bit of money stowed away from one inheritance or other. Got outfitted with the best of the best and I'm now back on active duty."

"With the advantages of receiving an amputee's pension," Dotsenko added. "Don't mind his funny way of running. It's too much leg for the man."

"I'm sure you'll grow into it," I said. So far, these two guys were the ones I liked best.

Bee looked around and frowned slightly. "We're missing Brisbois, Miranda, and both Klaus and Konstantinov. They're a Foreign Legion veteran, a shy marksman, and our two seconds respectively."

I shrugged slightly. "I'll get to know them later. Where can I get some food."

"Right this way, Mata. That's kill in Spanish, right?"

"Well, yeah, but the last name is Catalan, it means something like 'thick of the forest' or brush."

"How come everyone knows the meanings of their last names?" he asked. "Like I know what Agnarsson means."

"Son of Agnar?" Snark suggested.

At that, I had to laugh.

"I am really getting sick and tired of all these training exercises," I grunted. "Sir."

Lieutenant Castillo propped his feet up on a box of ammunition and raised an eyebrow at the four paint marks on my chest. "You're sick of losing, you mean?"

"Sir, your men have been working together for a long time. My men just met each other three days ago."

"They're all my men now," he corrected. "And you only get to call them your men for as long as they're under your command in training exercises."

"Sir," I said, checking my weapon for any paint. "That sniper of yours is very good. Very fast."

He nodded with a small smile. "One of the best there is. But then again, so are the men that you're commanding right now. On paper, Pavel's team is as good as yours."

"Sir, we both know paper isn't the best indication of skill or talent."

"Then you are saying that your men aren't as good as mine?"

"No, I'm not saying that," I immediately said. "I'm just saying that they don't know what the other one's thinking."

"Yet," he said. "But still, if you keep losing all these it'll only sow discontent. I'm mixing up the teams, giving you command of some of my men, as you call them. Anyone in particular that impressed you?"

"Mobuto," I said without hesitation. "Both gunners gave us some trouble…"

"Not Pavel?"

"Well, yes," I said, "but he plays a more standard rifleman role despite his weapon."

"He does do that, doesn't he?" he asked. "Well, who do you want?"

"Any of the gunners will do," he said. "Dotsenko is slightly more accurate, isn't he?"

"Yes he is," Castillo agreed. "And he still has both his legs."

"That too," I admitted. "Could prove to be an asset."

"All right, they are yours. Who will you exchange them for?"

I grunted. "I don't know yet."

Lieutenant Castillo shrugged. "Well then. I'll pick them then, but first I want you to go over your team."

"All of them?" I asked.

"Yourself excluded of course," he said. "Go."

I sighed and sat down on another box of ammunition. "Well, we've got our three Army soldiers. Good men despite their branch."

Castillo chuckled. "If you say so."

"As soldiers they're pretty much equal to one another."

"PFCs Stapleton and Almasi along with Specialist O'Neal, right?" he asked.

"Yes, John, Oscar, and Eric respectively."

"Well, go on."

I frowned slightly, trying to remember particular details about each one. "I wouldn't go as far as giving them each a special ability, so to speak. They're all incredibly talented marksmen and handle their MA37s with impressive skill."

"Older rifles," he said. "But the Army is pretty fond of tradition."

"And they're usually the last ones to get the new gear," I added.

"That too," Castillo agreed.

"Private First Class John Stapleton… He is your typical Army type. Joined because ONI propaganda is just that good, could've gone to your average college and lived your average life but decided to live a life of adventure. A few years later we get John 2.0, your battle-hardened, wise-cracking soldier with a knack for killing. Good mental state, self-confident, doesn't expect to die any time soon."

"Good."

"Then there's Oscar Almasi," I went on. "Half something, half another something, and half some sort of Arab. At first glance he looks like your average Reach native except that he's from some backwater mining station that nobody's ever heard from. Speaks half a dozen different languages. Supposedly was a candidate for undercover operations with Insurgency, but the war was a more urgent circumstance apparently. He can draw his sidearm pretty darn fast, no doubt that will help him someday."

"And O'Neal?"

"He's your standard big and scary black man. Hell, he's even from the Bronx in New York."

"How tall is he again?" he asked.

"Six-foot-eleven," I replied. "And he's got the muscles to match. No wonder he's the one that carries the rocket launchers and other heavy gear. His size, however, does make him a big target. It also happens to make him a little bit slower when on the move. Give him a pair of machine guns and he'd be your perfect action movie hero, firing them both simultaneously."

"That might just come in handy some day," Castillo noted. "Not the kind of guy you'd want to get into a fist fight with, I assume."

"Not on your life," I agreed. "I'm still a bit worried about his size, but then again he could probably take twice as much punishment as your average human being."

"Let's just hope we never have to find out."

"Yes," I said. "Let's."

Castillo put his feet back down and leaned forward to look at me closely. "So that's our three soldiers. All of them are spectacular fighters in their own right and will pull through if needed."

"That would be my assessment," I said. "Then we've got two swabbies. Did you really have to pick candidates from all branches?"

Castillo smiled. "Of course not, but they were the best candidates, and I'm not going to let something as small as military branch prevent me from picking them."
"Really?"

He laughed loudly. "My superior suggested that a few men and women from different branches be brought in, but one he convinced me I realized that the candidates were the better option."

"If you say so, sir," I said. "As for our Navy specimens, not only was I surprised when I found out that the Navy types still had their own ground forces, I was even more surprised to find out that they actually saw combat on the ground."

"Yeah," he agreed, "I used to think that us Marines handled the muscle work for the swabbies, but it seems like they have some muscle of their own."

"Special Warfare Operators, both of them. They're also both Petty Officers Third Class. Corporals."

"PO-3," Castillo said with care. "As for their capabilities?"

"Chang Sun-Hoyt, other than a very unusual last name, he's got the very unusual training of underwater demolition and boat handling. I mean, who the hell needs a boat these days?"

"Fishermen," he said.

I nodded. "Well, he's well-versed in the use of all kinds of weaponry and happens to be particularly effective when using marksmen rifles. He's a fan of the EMR, but also has a wonderful talent for the M7 SMG. Used to provide sniper cover for his previous unit."

"I've seen him at work," Castillo said. "He can empty his magazine into a melon in the span of a second. Impressive fingers."

I groaned. "You won't believe the amount of jokes I've heard on the matter. He seems rather proud of himself too."

"And the girl?"

"Natasha Krieger… well, she's a handful."

"So I've heard," Castillo muttered. He stood up and rolled his neck around before cracking his knuckles. The man was in good shape, not overly bulky like a lot of us Helljumpers were, but the word fit wouldn't do him much justice. I hadn't seen him fight yet, but the way his men spoke of him you'd have thought he was Ares incarnated. A god amongst mortals, or at the very least a demigod. He walked around his stool and crossed his arms, revealing some tattooed numbers on his left forearm.

"What do you know about her past, sir?"

He sighed. "Daughter of a very rich businessman. Her father was Russian, I believe, but she was born wherever he moved to. Grew up rich and privileged, but she suffered all the syndromes of a child that didn't get enough attention. Promiscuous in high school, bad grades, not a care in the world. Then she decided her life was too damn boring and got into some shady business. Obviously, she wasn't smart enough not to get caught. Her father shipped her away and she joined the Navy as a compromise of sorts. She was supposed to stay behind combat lines, but a filing mistake changed that. Found her calling apparently."

I raised an eyebrow. "Huh, explains the reason why she's angry all the time. She's got a very… explosive personality."

"The next time she decides to get angry, make sure you slap her hard," he said. "Backhand. Might just give her some humility."

"She's got the looks and the background of an alpha bitch," I noted. "Some humility will do her good. Unfortunately, she's got an amazing skillset for this line of work."

"Well, that's Natasha for you. What about out three jarheads?"

"They're all Helljumpers," I started. "Veterans of several campaigns and with at least a dozen combat jumps under their belts. PFC Hipolito…"

"Ee-poll-ee-toh," he corrected my pronunciation.

"Hipolito Gibson. We call him Polly. He's the youngest of the bunch, and some would say he's our naïve and idealistic one, but underneath that perky exterior you have a hardened man. I'd say he has some sort of disorder, but I'm no expert."

"Well I am, and the moment he stops being cheery is the moment you watch out for him, ok?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "I'll be sure to. Then there's Lance Corporal Aaron Eidelberg, resident Jew doctor, drafted into the Corps and for some reason or other wasn't made a surgeon."

"The correct term would be Jewish."

"Unfortunately," I said. "Nobody cares."

"Good point. Go on."

"And then there's Corporal Adrian Longworth."

"The Third?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know, but with a name like that, I wouldn't be surprised. Still, the guy is too… good for his own good. Pretty good-looking, he's got a nice and heroic jaw, baby blue eyes." I scoffed. "He's every girl's wet dream. Unfortunately though, it doesn't stop at that, he also happens to be good at everything he tries. Might not be the best at everything, but he comes damn close to it."

"Ah, troublesome ego?"

"Yes," I said. "He does a pretty sell job at containing himself, but you can tell he thinks himself better."

"Most of us do," Castillo muttered. "Until we're proven wrong. I'll see about taking him down a notch, but I think that Krieger's personality will clash with his, tone them both down a bit."

"Or make one of them an even bigger dick," I suggested. "Anyhow, I suppose that some sort of preemptive action will be in order."

"Hand-to-hand usually has a big impact on the psyche," he said. "Getting beaten up is a lot quicker than mentally breaking someone, not as effective, mind you, but it works."

"If you say so, sir," I said for the second time.

Castillo sighed, somehow managing to drive home a feeling of disappointment in me. For some reason it affected me more than it should've. "I'll put Krieger with Pavel, see if he can tone her down a bit. And Stapleton too."

I nodded and picked my rifle back up. "One more simulated match?"

"Yes," he replied. "Let's see how you do with Marv and Dotsenko on your side."

The fight was over in a grand total of six seconds. Even then most of those were dedicated to watching. The lieutenant had seen an opening and had gone in the moment he saw it. He delivered two quick punches to Almasi's ribs and somehow managed to throw him across the mat and onto his back pretty damn hard. Even I had to raise an eyebrow in admiration. I had rarely seen someone so quick.

"Now, those who have served with me know just how much punishment I can dish out."

"And how much you can take!" Bee cried, drawing a few laughs.

"And how much I can take," he agreed. "But the rest of you do not, consider this a welcoming lesson. You'll learn that I am better than you and that there's a reason why you follow my orders. Other than rank of course. Many of you think yourself better or underachievers, today you'll learn that you're nothing of the sort. You're simply not as good as I am. Clear?"

Nobody said anything, but a few of the more veteran members rolled their eyes. If Castillo gained obedience, trust, and respect by cultivating a cult around his person, then he would be the first person that I met that did that. I'm usually a follower of the 'if it works, it works' mentality, but this might've been taking it a bit too far. I understood that he wanted every order he gave followed without question, especially considering our intended roles. One didn't form an elite unit if you didn't want expect them to go on tough missions or make hard choices. Castillo would need one of us to sacrifice himself at his word if it meant saving the team. As I said, understandable, but he could've done it in a way that made him less annoying to people.

"Ok, who's next?" Castillo asked, spreading his arms like he was some kind of gladiator. "Or shall I pick my victim?"

"How about O'Neal?" Ramirez suggested.

Every head turned to look at the massive black man, who simply crossed his arms over his chest. Personally, I wouldn't have liked to fight him under any circumstances.

Castillo turned slightly to the side and his eyes focused on something that I couldn't quite see. For a few brief instants he frowned slightly before returning his attention to Ramirez with a cheery smile. "Well, if you want to see O'Neal fight so badly, then I suppose you shall get your wish then. O'Neal, get in here, grappling gloves on. Ramirez, you too."

"Oh shit," he muttered.

"Oh shit indeed," Castillo agreed. "Smartass Now not only am I better than you, I am also smarter than you are. This is yet another reason why you will do everything I tell you to do. It's for your own good."

"I'm not sure this is for my own good," Ramirez muttered.

"All right," the lieutenant conceded. "Maybe it's not for your own good."

Ramirez could walk and run with his artificial limb, but he wasn't exactly maneuverable with it yet. We watched as O'Neal soundly beat the shit out of him in the space of one minute. To be fair to the guy, he did manage to get in a few good punches, but kicking with a fake leg does appear to be more difficult than you'd imagine.

A few of the men laughed as Ramirez fell to the ground from a particularly tough punch to the jaw. He propped himself back up and shook his head before waving his arm in surrender. O'Neal shook his hand and they both went back to their respective seats, allowing our brave leader to step back into place and start delivering particularly embarrassing beatings. He didn't even skimp on the girls, but I did notice that he did use more grappling as opposed to straight-down punches that he used on the rest of us.

"I have three months to train you," he said. "And by the time those are done I want two things: for us to function as a single unit and for all of you to be able to last more than forty seconds in the mat with me. That second one's important."

Out of all twenty of us only six had managed to go a full minute in the mat with the el-tee. I managed to make it a full minute along with Gunnery Sergeant Klaus, Mobuto, O'Neill, Staff Sergeant Konstantinov, and Brisbois. Mobuto and Brisbois were very impressive, managing to last a full three-minute round against Castillo, even O'Neill didn't manage that, and the man was a monster.

"Change into training gear," he said. "I want you on The Lot in ten minutes, there's a nice little setup for you guys to go through."

There were mutters from the unit but everyone got back to their feet and started jogging back towards the barracks. How nasty of the lieutenant to make us go all the way across the base, send us to change our clothes, and then have us come back here.

I sighed and started jogging with the rest of them. At least Castillo had the decency to jog with us. It probably just meant that he had something particularly nasty prepared for us as soon as we got to The Lot.

I was really beginning to hate Castillo's methods. I felt like I was back in boot camp, but instead of everything being unbearably painful, it was unbearably embarrassing. Castillo had a certain something about him, call it charm or charisma or whatever, but he came painfully close to alienating everybody in the unit. Normally a drill sergeant would make his recruits hate him so much that they start working together as a team. Castillo was doing the drill sergeant bit and in a way it was working, but if he didn't cut it out soon we would have a hard time taking orders from him. Officers were supposed to be tough, but not tougher than your sergeant.

I wiped some paint off my gun and rolled my neck. Some dickwad had Almasi and me pinned down behind a bunch of empty barrels.

"Any ideas, Sarge?" Almasi asked me.

"Negative Oscar," I said. "If this was real life my gun would be useless and these barrels would be of no use as cover."

"So we're cheating?"

"Technically," I agreed. "If we're already cheating then we might as well keep doing it."

"Sarge?" he questioned.

I sighed. The guy was a bit slow sometimes. "We lift the barrels, use them as cover to flank whoever has us pinned down."

Almasi smiled. "Sounds good."

I tilted the barrel slightly in order to get my fingers underneath. Fortunately they were empty and light enough to carry without much trouble.

"On our knees?" he asked.

"Yeah. I don't want my feet to feel numb for the rest of the match."

"Agreed. Straight up front?"

"Yeah," I said. "Let's show this dicks."

Not two minutes later Petty Officer Three Sun-Hoyt and Corporal Livingston were calling bullshit on our cheating. I told them that there hadn't been a set of rules and urged them to stay on the floor until the numbing agent on the training bullets wore off. As a sergeant I wasn't above some trash talk with my underlings. Livingston just muttered a curse and rolled her head to the side so that she was more comfortable.

Pretty girl, that one, but everything annoyed her, or at least that's how she behaved.

"Nice work, Oscar," I told Almasi. "Come on."

Ten minutes later my team managed to get the win and we stood in front of the el-tee. Castillo smiled at us and congratulated our win.

"Nice work," he said. "That was a nice move with the barrels Mata."

"Thanks, sir," I said.

"Innovation and creativity is something that I like seeing in my men. Don't cheat ever again."

"Understood, sir," I said apologetically.

"The same goes for you, Almasi," he added.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Well, I've got good news," he began. "You're making good progress, starting to work more like a team. You can have Friday and Saturday off, but I want you here by nine o'clock Sunday morning. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" we said enthusiastically.

Sunday morning came entirely too fast for me.

"Head hurting?" Castillo asked.

"Yeah," I admitted.

He nodded. "I have the same problem, especially since they made those hangover pills illegal."

"Why would they do that anyways?" I asked.

"Once they went in the market the alcoholism rates went through the roof. Or something like that," he muttered. "It's supposed to be good for society in general, but not so much for us."

"Yes, sir."

"Here," he said, offering me a bottle of Clamato. "Trust me, it helps."

"Is it just Clamato?" I asked.

"Sure, let's go with that."

I took a drink from it. "Beer?"

"Yup," he said. "Lemon, salt, Maggi sauce, hot sauce, ground bacon bits, and peppers."

I took another drink. "Spicy."

"It helps," he said. "But you have to get the beer volume right or otherwise you just go right back to being drunk."

"Did you get it right, sir?" I asked.

"I'm pretty sure I did," he replied. "Keep it. Was it a fun night?"

I nodded. "You'd think that by this point in life one would be able to go to a bar and not get shitfaced."

"Don't worry about it, I plan on continuing to be an alcoholic for as long as I live."

"Not the most positive outlook in life, sir," I noted, taking another drink of the mix. "This is really good."

He nodded a small thanks. "Did everybody get drunk?"

"To some degree," I said. "Save for Sun-Hoyt, he doesn't drink, apparently."

He nodded again. "Crazy college drunk? Melancholic drunk?"

"Mostly melancholic," I said. "But the younger kids did start going into the crazy college territory. Why are you asking me this?"

"Just curious," he said. "How's the team coming together? Good?"

"A lot better," I admitted. "Everybody's starting to integrate real good. There's still some work to be done, but it won't be long before everybody works like you want them to."

He shook his head and looked at me. I couldn't help but notice that his eyes would move to the side, as if there was something behind me. At first I barely noticed it, but then I had to try hard not to turn around and look.

"They'll do fine, but if they could work like I wanted them to…"

I smiled, it was my best fake smile, but it carried my meaning across. "I understand." Everybody wanted the men they commanded to function as perfect killing machine. We could work hard to make them as close to perfect as humanly possible, but we couldn't get quite there, not even those fancy Spartans were perfect.

"Is there anything else, Lieutenant?"

"No, that's all for now, Mata," he said. "Be ready in… one hour."

"Yes, sir." I stood up and offered him the bottle of Clamato back.

"Keep it," he said, pulling another bottle from underneath his desk. "I've got mine."

"Thank you, sir."

"Anytime. Pavel should be right outside, tell him to come on in, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

I opened the door to Lieutenant Castillo's so-called office and walked out to the waiting space. Gunny Klaus was indeed waiting there. He looked tired, but unlike the rest of the team he didn't look like he was still drunk. In fact, he actually bothered with what appeared to be a genuine smile when he saw me walking out. He stretched out his hand and shook mine vigorously.

"Hey Mata, tough night, huh?"

I nodded. "Yup. We don't often get a whole weekend for ourselves, you know Gunny."

"I know," he said. "Don't tell Frank I said this, but I think that the main reason he agreed to this was because my wife kept pestering him and asking him to give me more visiting hours."

"You and the El-tee go a long way back, don't you?"

"A pretty long way," he confirmed. "Once upon a time he was only a sergeant above me."

"Why didn't you go into OCS, Gunny?"

He shrugged, somehow making it seem like his shoulders were partially dislocated or something. "I'm not sure. I never wanted to. I don't like the responsibility of command. Sometimes I think that a squad is way more than I can handle, but hey, this way I'm only bossed around by one person."

I actually smiled at that. "I usually have command of my own squad, but there are no less than four sergeants in this team right now."

"And those pesky POs," he added. "Navy ranks are so fucking weird, right?"

"Yes they are," I agreed. "Hey, El-tee wants you to come in."

"Of course he does. What else does he think I was doing out here? Just waiting for him to come out? He can be so stuck up sometimes."

"That's not for me to say."

"Come on Mata, it's a God-given right for enlisted men and NCOs to bitch about their superior officers."

"You know I can hear you through the door, right?" Castillo called out. "Pavel, get in here, I need to talk to you."

Pavel smiled and shrugged again, patting my arm before going into the lion's den. He left me thinking though, it had been some years since I had last complained about a superior. I had run through quite a few of them. Some of those had been bad, some good, and some others went from one end of the spectrum to the other. To me it had stopped making sense to complain about them if in all likelihood they'd be dead by the end of the year. As long as they didn't get me killed I guess that they could be as incompetent as they wanted. Still, if I had one thing to complain about regarding Castillo, it would be that he was just fucking weird.

"Hey Sarge, what's the word from the El-tee?" Eidelberg asked.

The man was the most stereotypical Jewish person one could imagine but somehow still managed to come out attractive. Not to be offensive to the stereotypical Jew here, but he had the nose, the receding hairline, the dark and curly hair, and dark eyes. Now, that didn't mean that he was ugly by any account, he was a good-looking man, just not my type.

"Just wanted to talk," I replied. "Does he have this talks with everybody?"

"Not as often as he does with you," he said. "I think that Polly's been in the office twice."

I turned to Gibson. "That right?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Polly?"

"Short for my name. Apparently Hipolito is too hard to pronounce for some of the fine brains in here."

Polly was a lot easier to pronounce, but I could always just call him by his last name.

"Which reminds me," Andrea spoke up, lowering her datapad. "Are you new guys going to get nicknames?"

"You're not allowed to give us nicknames, Andy," Eidelberg said. "I think that only the sergeants are allowed to do that."

"Don't say that," Gibson said. "Next think you know Snark is going to be giving us nicknames."
"Who the hell made him a sergeant anyways?" Eidelberg asked. "I mean, whether he earned the rank or not he keeps acting like a regular enlisted soldier. I don't think I've ever seen him give out an order."

"Well that might change soon, Corporal," Snark said, having just walked inside the room. "What was that I heard about nicknames?"

"Nothing," Eidelberg said, frowning at his misfortune.

The rest of the people in the room seemed to be enjoying the situation he now found himself in. To be fair, I did find myself crossing my arms and smiling as I watched the spectacle unfold.

"No, I'm pretty sure I heard something about nicknames," Snark went on, tapping his chin. "Do you have one?"

"Well yes, but–"

"Ah, now I remember," Snark said, raising a fist in triumph. "You don't have an in-unit nickname."

"Yeah, but–"

"But nothing, you offended me so now I'm giving you a nickname."

Eidelberg sighed. "Yes, Sergeant."

Snark nodded, satisfied with himself. "Well, I know all of two things about you. I know that you are Jewish and I know that you are a trained surgeon. If I gave you a nickname related to your medical skills it could be considered a compliment, so I'm going to have to make fun of your religion."
"People have been doing that for thousands of years," Eidelberg muttered.

"Aaron Eidelberg, let's see… You're not orthodox, are you?"

"Nope."

"All right, then I guess I'll call you Payot."

"What? Really?" he asked. "I just said I'm not orthodox."

Snark shrugged. "It was either that or Kippah."

"Fine, Payot is fine," Eidelberg said, resigned.

Snark ruffled Eidelberg's head and then slapped him in the back of it. "You've inspired me. I might just nickname everybody after this. Please do tell me if anyone doesn't call you Payot, I'll finally make my rank proud and be an asshole to them."
Eidelberg, or more appropriately, Payot, nodded and went back to watching whatever the hell was watching. He didn't complain nearly enough about his nickname. My guess is that he was too hungover to even bother with a discussion with a guy that was known for his incredibly annoying capacity for sarcasm. The only person who could go toe-to-toe with Snark was the El-tee, and even then he'd have to be on a good day. Or a bad one, it depends how you looked at it.

"What the hell's Payot mean?" Andrea asked, sounding annoyed.

Thanks for reading this chapter.

Almost two weeks in between updates. Damn, sorry guys, but this time I've got (yet another) legitimate excuse. The first four of those twelve days I was still in my finals and could barely get any writing done. The following days I went to the graduation party for the senior class. I'll have you remember that in Mexico the legal drinking age is eighteen years old, which means that I took full advantage of that before I move to the US. After the graduation party (and subsequent morning) I didn't really feel like doing anything for a day. The next two days were full of some family business and then I had a big going-away party that left me once again drunk and blabbering like a baby. The guess what I did next day? Yes. Drink and party. Then I went out again on Friday and finally I topped it off with a lovely evening with a lot of Bacardi and coke. Apparently I deal with change by drinking hard. Early onset alcoholism? I hope not.

Still, I know that this is probably not a very good apology for the delay, but I'll have you remember that I've lived here most of my life and all my friends, acquaintances, crushes, and more reside here. My whole life is here and I'll be leaving it all behind in just a month. Oh, sure, I'll be able to skype and whatnot, but it just won't be the same. I'm trying to hang out with my friends here as much as possible and spend my last month here having fun and making good memories. You think that something is just sentimental bullshit and then it happens to you.

Now to the real post-chapter comment: we got a new character, gave him somewhat of a personality and background. Made him... well someone. Roderic Mata, ladies and gentlemen. Then of course, we have a grand total of nine new characters. Hell, some of them aren't even from the Marines. Will they say Oorah or Hoo-ah? I don't know anymore! Well, those characters will be expanded upon in the next couple of chapters, they'll get hopes and dreams and flaws and painful deaths (maybe?). This chapter was mostly a way to show Sergeant Mata as well as Frank from a different perspective.

I also got most of Reaper back together! Yay! Added Serge because I like that son of a bitch too. Who says that Frenchmen can't be badass? Oh, and the main reason I got Dotsenko and Ramirez in this new unit is because I wanted to give them the 'those-two-guys' treatment. And I really started liking them during the last couple of chapters.

There were a couple of questions in your comments. Most of which I am at no liberty to answer, but perhaps they will be answered with time. And yes, the AAG is actually a canonical unit from the Halo universe, but it's so goddamned obscure that I get to mold it to my own liking. I hope it's also to yours. Before I sign off, there's a couple of things that I'd like to ask you. I know a lot of you really like Snark and Bee, but what I want to know is what you like about them. If I had to guess I'd say that you like his twenty-first century pop culture references and Snark's offhanded comments, but if there's anything else feel free to tell me so that I can bring those aspects you like into play.

A thousand points if you tell me what a Payot is. Half a thousand points if you translate the quote and give me a meaning in the context of this chapter.

Stay strong.

-casquis