Chapter CLXXXVII: Snippets
May 18, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/
Esztergom (Ezhtergom), Viery Territory, Reach, Epsilon Eridani System
"The title is misleading, boys. This chapter is a long one." – Schitzo
I looked over my new team, all nineteen of them. Coming from every branch in the military save for those idiots in the Air Force. All of them were clad in the fatigues that their respective branches used. It made for a weird sight, seeing nineteen men and women in black, green, and blue fatigues standing side by side with their legs opened at shoulder width and their hands clasped behind their backs. I stood in front of them and felt proud.
Not only did I feel proud because the men in front of me where in all likelihood the best outfit short of a Spartan-II unit, I also felt proud because after a year of sorrow and grieving it finally felt like I was beginning to climb out of it. That I had gotten Cam to make out with Marina was also no small amount of ego-booster.
"Men! We are AAG Team 7," I said loudly. I paused for a moment, not being able to suppress a grin at the next phrase. "Today is the first day of the rest of your lives!"
May 19, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/
PFC John "Crow" Stapleton
Every rookie makes the mistake of wanting to get their own cool and badass nickname once they're in the Army. Every rookie learns the error of his ways as soon as he sees that nicknames aren't cool or badass. They're just embarrassing while sounding innocuous enough that your superior officers won't raise eyebrows at hearing you called that way. I had had the extreme lucky break of not having been given a nickname when I first walked in the Army.
That mostly owed to the fact that I went into a standard infantry unit. No light infantry, no armored support, and no fancy toys. At the end of the day we were just the lowest of the low in the Army, but without us everything would've fallen apart. I sighed. The 86th Infantry Regiment had been through a lot of wear and tear, but in the end the Marines or the mobile divisions got all the credit.
When I was contacted for this I didn't have to think about it twice. Fancy toys and getting recognition sounded damn good, but the real seller was that we didn't have to walk miles and miles lugging half our body weight in ammunition plus additional equipment.
And now I had just gotten my first nickname.
"Crow! Crow! Crow! Crow! Crow!" they chanted as I sunk deeper into my chair. Under a lot of circumstances the name would've sounded good, something to be proud of.
Apparently I cackled like a bird whenever I laughed.
"All right!" Lieutenant Castillo shouted after it had gone on for a while. "Quiet down, quiet down! I'm pretty sure Crow knows his name by now."
There were a few chuckles at that. Man, the El-tee was worse than some of us enlisted.
"Relax, Crow," Oscar said as he sat down next to me. "You'll grow into it. They all do. You had the relative luck of being one of the first to get a nickname. I hear that the last one to get it usually has the worst one."
"Why is that?" I asked him.
"Because we get tired and decide to just get over with."
He did have a point, but every time I laughed I would feel self-conscious about my laughter. It was the perfect psychological attack.
"Anyways," Oscar said. "Seen anything you like on board?"
"I've been here for a day," I told him. "Besides, the El-tee was very clear about keeping to ourselves."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, "I know, but you can't expect us all to share the three girls here."
I laughed and then quickly suppressed it. "You do have a point. And being SpecOps does have a certain kind of allure, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it does. So what do you say, want to go out on the prowl? Nobody said that the rec room was out of limits."
"Maybe."
O'Neal was coming down to join us.
"Hey Eric," I waved. "Come here, Oscar has a proposition."
The bench groaned as the massive behemoth of a man sat down on it. He had three times as much food on his plate as Oscar and I did together, but then again, he also weighed three times as much.
"I'm listening," he grumbled, grabbing the comically tiny fork with his massive hands.
"First of all, I need to know if you've got a girl back home," Oscar asked him.
"Not right now," he replied, taking a bite of his cheap cloned steak. "Why?"
"We're thinking about going out and seducing some of the younger and more naïve ladies of this ship."
"Hmmm," O'Neal muttered.
"Yeah indeed," Oscar went on. "It shouldn't be so hard, should it? Most of the people on board have already gone through a couple of tours of service. You know how it is, you get a close brush with death and then everybody's fucking everybody."
I nodded slowly. I don't think I had gotten so much sex as I did after my first tour of service. Not only was I horny as hell, the girls in the various Army and Marine units that fought in Algolis. I still had fond memories of the long ride back home, even if the battle that preceded it had been a real nightmare.
"So, is there a plan?" I asked. "Or you're just telling us this because you need wingmen?"
"Well, I just thought that if the El-tee disagreed with our practices then he wouldn't be as rough on three of us."
I leveled my eyes at him. "You really think that? After the past months you really think that just because it's three of us instead of just one Castillo will decide that it's ok?"
"Cleaning the sewage pipes is done three times as quick with three men," Oscar said. "Plus you get laid. That's gotta be a plus, right?"
O'Neal shrugged slightly and nodded carefully. A man so massive had to learn to watch his surroundings carefully and take care that he didn't accidentally strangle somebody because he didn't know his strength, in turn most of his movements were slow and deliberate.
Except, of course, when he was on the fighting mat. Those massive tree-trunk arms of his were as fast as mine.
"Us Army boys got to stick together," Oscar went on.
"We stay together, and we fail together?" I asked.
He shook his head. "We stay together and we get laid together."
"Metaphorically speaking, of course," I quickly added. "I'm not into that kind of stuff."
"Right," he quickly said apologetically.
"We stick together we…" I began. "Got nothing."
"How about we just 'stick together?'" O'Neal suggested.
"Double meaning, I like it," Oscar said. "We stick together."
"You do realize that you still make it sound like all three of us are fucking together."
"But in different rooms," Oscar told me. "In different rooms."
May 23, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/four days later
PFC Oscar "Pitcher" Almasi
How on Earth did I manage to get myself into this situation. I had found a pretty girl, flirted with her, talked with her, and eventually things got intimate. The problem here was that they didn't get intimate enough. I barely even got a few seconds of kissing before she said that it might be a good idea to take it slow.
I had no chance but to agree, when you start pressuring a girl you begin treading some really dangerous territory.
Then we talked and she said goodbye and then Lieutenant Castillo walked in.
"Damn," he said. "The one that got away?"
"Yes, sir," I said, standing at attention.
"At ease," he dismissed me. "Almasi, Almasi, Almasi… I am disappointed in you."
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to."
"Nobody ever does," he said. "But the ones that do only do it once. You know why?"
I gulped. "Sir?"
"Because I make damn sure they don't."
I said nothing.
"Of course, I could just tell everybody how that girl ran out of the room as fast as possible."
"Please don't, sir," I begged. It wasn't true, but everybody would believe him over me. "She's a nice girl."
"No wonder you didn't go in for the kill."
"It was not for lack of trying," I said.
"So she made you strike out?"
I nodded. "I guess you could say that."
Castillo slapped my shoulder and then squeezed so hard that I had to wince. "Ah, it hurts!"
He stopped squeezing and gently rubbed my hurt shoulder. "Well, I'll be sure to tell everybody to call you Pitcher."
"Yes, sir," I said quickly. An embarrassing nickname was a better alternative than most.
"And you can report to the chiefs occupational officer. Tell him I sent you to clean all the sewage pipes in our section of the ship."
I sighed. "Yes, sir."
The CPO in charge of occupations was quick. I met up with him immediately after my little run-in with Castillo and soon enough he had me in overalls and inside a cramped corridor. He made sure to give me an instructional pad that would apparently tell me exactly what I was supposed to do.
"Hello," the pad said once I was in the first pipe. "My name is Dino and I'm this ship's on-board AI."
"I thought you were just an instructional computer," I muttered, placing the pad on a special pocket in my overalls, illuminating the space in front of me. "What do you need me to do?"
"It's simple," Dino said. "You see those nuts there?"
"Yeah," I grunted, shifting myself.
"Unscrew them. The unscrew the screws."
"All of them?"
"No, just half of it so that the shit and piss from your team can leak through the pipes."
"So all of them," I muttered, getting the appropriate tool for the job. Castillo had made sure that I didn't get any automatic tools, so all of this was done by hand.
"Ok, then?"
"Then you remove that section of the pipe," Dino told me. "You place one of those tubes instead and wait for it to do the cleaning."
I relaxed a little. "And the section I removed?"
"I'm glad you asked," the AI said merrily. "That one you get to clean yourself. You didn't think that the three different tube brushes and all that bleach were just for show, did you?"
"For a while there, I did," I admitted to the AI. "So, Dino, you've got any conversational subroutines?"
"Why yes I do," it replied. "Not a lot of people want to talk to an AI, you know?"
"I was born and raised in a mining station," I explained. "There were times when I was bored out of my mind and had to talk to the AIs."
"Sounds reasonable. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. Whatever."
By the time I had unlatched all the nuts and bolts in the first pipe we had settled into a nice conversation about ass or boobs. I am sure that Dino could've made convincing arguments for just about anything, but right now it was sounding remarkable human. It must've come from a man's brain.
"Ok, now pull the pipe, " it said.
I tanked the pipe and almost threw up at the smell. The smell of shit was fresh. Castillo must've told everybody to use their bathrooms not so long ago. It was a nice touch. I got to admit that.
"Fuck's sake," I cursed, taking in quick breaths to avoid taking in the stink, but it was unavoidable. I put the pipe down and then placed the magic tube in its place. As the device started cleaning the piping above and below it I started doing the same with the yard-long section of piping next to me. The brushes were effective at separating the fresh shit from the metal, but they weren't nearly as good at doing that with the hard shit. The shit that had been there for days now.
"Shit."
"An appropriate response considering the circumstances," Dino said.
"Play me some music, please," I told it. "And say that thing about squishiness you were saying earlier."
The AI started playing some orchestral music that served to relax me a bit and we resumed our conversation. I kept insisting that the ass was the most fundamental part in a woman's body, but Dino kept returning to boobs. The stupid AI wouldn't yield to my point of view and I wasn't about to let a machine beat me at talking. The conversation went on for the remainder of my punishment until I got to the final pipe.
"Last one," I said to myself, removing the pipe.
Then, without any warning whatsoever other than the sound of fluids moving through a confined space, a giant wave of fresh shit and piss landed all over my right arm. The position of my arm meant that it bounced off it and hit me right in the face. I had the presence of mind to close my mouth, but its still got on my eyes and nose and pushed me backwards. I grunted and spat, sliding into the floor slowly.
"Up you go," Dino said, laughing. "We're not done yet."
I swear that I could hear laughter coming through the pipe.
June 8, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/three weeks later
LCpl. Robert "Bumblebee" Agnarsson
"First combat drop with our new and fancy unit, eh?" I said. "What do you think?"
Serge didn't reply. He never did. Instead he just turned to look at me and gave me his trademark 'are you fucking kidding me' look. Most people would've been annoyed by it, but me, I just took it in stride. Serge was that kind of guy and I could always just talk to someone else.
"Oi! Snark!"
"What's up?" he asked, checking his rifle.
"Does something have to be up for me to want to talk?" I asked, slapping him hard in the back. "You're such a downer."
"I'm a sniper, it's basically in the list of requirements."
"Right," I muttered. "You nervous?"
"Well, I'm always nervous about a potentially catastrophic failure with my pod that could end up with me dead."
"You do have a point there," I said gloomily. "And what about the team?"
"Lucky number seven baby," he said, slapping a full magazine into his rifle, cocking the bolt and then placing another full magazine into it.
"You mean Lucky Number Slevin, right?"
"What?"
"Movie."
"Oh. Good one?"
I shrugged. "Pretty watchable."
"I'll check it out," he said.
I nodded. My unorthodox tastes in entertainment seemed to be something that people naturally grew into. They damn well better, with the shit that was coming out nowadays, my outdated stuff was a whole lot better than theirs.
"Oi, pass me that, will ya?" I asked Snark.
He shoved the box of pistol ammunition my way and I started loading a few of the spare magazines I had on me. Everybody seemed so dull and boring whenever we were just about to drop. Everybody except for the El-tee and Gunny. Those two bickered like an old married couple whenever they got the chance. I looked over my shoulder to look at them and then chuckled slightly when I saw that they were still going at it.
"It makes the new guys nervous," Snark said once he realized I was looking at them. "They should tone it down a bit. At least for a little while."
"Nah," I said, shaking my head. "El-tee is as stubborn as a mule and Gunny keeps him in check. It's always worked that way and they better get used to it."
Snark sighed and then delivered a vicious elbow strike to my ribs.
"What the fuck?"
"You were invading my place," he said.
I kicked him in the back of the knee and then shoved him backwards. "Dipshit."
"Hey! Enough!" Sergeant Mata called out before Snark could do anything else.
"You heard him," El-tee said. "Act like Helljumpers."
"But we're not Helljumpers anymore," I complained playfully.
I knew that I had said the wrong thing. Everybody, even those of us that weren't ODSTs stopped what they were doing and turned around to look at me. Even Snark seemed dumbfounded by what I had said. I closed my eyes and prayed that the El-tee wouldn't discipline me in front of everybody out of respect for the several years that we had fought side by side.
"Bee," he said. "What did you just say?"
"An incredibly stupid thing," I replied immediately. "And a lie."
"Good," he nodded slowly. "You and I are going to have words later."
I nodded quickly and then finished preparing everything. The moment my rocket launcher was ready and loaded I shoved it into my pod and waited. The mission parameters weren't exactly narrow, so I decided to get myself an MA5 as opposed to an M7 SMG. I began placing magazines into my pouches while Snark occasionally looked and shook his head. Even Staff Sergeant Grigori managed to shake his head at me.
It was even worse than that time when I decided to tell my dad that he wasn't a real Scotsman because he liked ale better than scotch. He had actually been hurt by that and didn't talk to me in days. I later found out that it was because he was disappointed that I thought your choice of liquor was what made you Scottish, but I still felt pretty bad for a while.
"Everybody ready?" Castillo asked when it was T minus two.
"Yes, sir," came the immediate reply.
The El-tee placed his pistol into his holster and let his hand rest on it. I never did figure out why he went with the old-fashioned holster as opposed to standard-issue magnetic plates. It was pretty much impossible to lose your sidearm if it was magnetically attached. I have to admit, it did give him a look of more authority.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this will be our first combat drop as a team. I expect nothing short of perfection, you understand me?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. This mission is important for two reasons: it'll allow UNSC forces groundside to communicate without the covvies eavesdropping and it will let me determine if you are good enough." He paused and paced a little bit. I could see Gunny Klaus roll his eyes slightly, but he remained like a statue.
"Those of us that are Helljumpers say that we go feet first into hell before every jump. I know that some of you aren't from the ODST, but the situation still applies. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir!"
I could feel myself smiling, this was just like old times.
"Damn right I am," he said. "Into your pods!"
We all climbed inside as fast as possible. I could tell that the Army and Navy guys were nervous. They had completed their training jump and done several dozen simulations, but unlike the rest of us, they hadn't done an actual combat drop before. And nothing did quite compare to the excitement of the real thing. I made sure that my weapons were secured and took a couple of deep breaths before the hatch came down.
I saw Lieutenant Castillo crack his knuckles like he always did before a jump and prepared to broadcast one of the better epic songs on my playlist.
"How do we go?" he asked.
"We go feet first, Lieutenant!" we all shouted.
Yes, just like old times.
June 8, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/
Special Operator Third Class Chang "Preacher" Sun-Hoyt
"That was the worst drop of my life," Natasha complained. I couldn't figure how such a princess could have made it through basic. To her everything that wasn't a luxury yacht was only good for the bottom classes and in her opinion we were all the bottom classes.
"Easy Tash, you get used to it," Mobuto said, gunning down a wounded grunt. "Clear!"
"Don't call me that," Natasha said sharply.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Pride was a sin, and when her time came she would be punished for it unless she repented for it. For the time being, humanity needed people with her skills, and God had deemed it fitting for her to remain alive this long, so there must've been a purpose for her to fulfill.
"Can it," Staff Sergeant Konstantinov ordered, sounding uncharacteristically emotive. "Klaus' fireteam should send the signal soon.
And true enough, Gunny Klaus and his men cleared the target building and flashed the IR strobes four times, signaling for us to go ahead. Sarge beckoned for us to move and we climbed out of cover, with Natasha and Mobuto taking point. The area around us was mostly cleared, the El-tee's fireteam had helped with that right after landing, establishing a very effective crossfire.
"Preacher, head up that building," Sarge ordered. "Marv, you go with."
I nodded and took a left turn, Mobuto following close behind.
"Why does he call me Preacher, again?" I asked after a while.
"Because you do a lot of praying," Mobuto replied, clearing a corner.
"Praying is not the same as preaching," I noted.
"But apparently nobody cares," he said. "I'm sorry, but it'll stick."
"It could be worse," I sighed, climbing up a set of stairs closely behind Mobuto. "It could be–"
The building rocked sideways violently and for a moment it seemed like it would collapse on top of us, but the structure held. I grunted a small complaint and climbed another story up. As we opened the door from the emergency stairwell I heard the screaming of Banshees as the attack craft dashed past the building. Mobuto and I cleared the entire floor and then I set a proximity mine right next to the door.
"Southeast corner," Mobuto said. "Let's go."
That particular corner presented a wonderful vantage point for the Covenant listening facility. From here I could see all five fireteams moving from different directions and provide sniper coverage for them. Snark was also on overwatch duty, but his main purpose was to take out high-ranking elites. I was supposed to finish the pitiful life of any alien that was in the way of Castillo and Mata's fireteams.
"There's the listening station," Mobuto muttered.
"Overwatch-Two is primed and ready," I broadcast on the team's channel.
"Stand by," Castillo said calmly. "We're on the move."
The first target for my EMR was an elite minor. Not the most stellar of targets, but one worthy nonetheless. I zeroed in on its head and fired four times in a row. The fast-flying bullets all collided precisely where I had aimed at, draining its shields and piercing its skull in quick succession.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil," I muttered.
"Corny," Mobuto dully noted.
"I always start with that one," I replied. "It gives me strength."
A minute later I took out another elite minor that had been attempting to divert Mata's fireteam. The elite took a shot through the shoulder, making me stifle a curse, before I fired another time and killed it.
"For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord," I prayed.
Another elite.
"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on."
"Are you praying for them?" Mobuto asked me.
"Yes," I said.
"Why?"
"Because despite their goal to exterminate humanity, they are still part of creation," I explained. "And as such could be God's creatures. Misguided as they are."
"By that same logic they could also be demons," he said.
I nodded with a small smile. "They very well could be demons in the shape of alien beings," I admitted, "but I don't know that, and until I do I will keep praying for their souls."
Mobuto shook his head. Not many people understood why I was faithful. A lot of Marines, Troopers, and Sailors had long since lost their faith. Some attributed it to the horrors witnessed during the war, others believed that science had advanced enough to disprove the existence of the one true God, and some others believed that since we hadn't found Him in the starts then he wasn't here. I understood that God was not in the same plane that we were and I understood that he would not intervene because that was not His way. Everything that happened here was because of His will, whether it seemed fair or not. If we endured through all of this and our faith remained intact then we would be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams in His kingdom.
"Three elites, twenty meters ahead of the El-tee's fireteam," Mobuto informed me. Those binoculars of his were very effective in helping me spot additional targets.
"I see them," I said. After all three of them were dead by my hand I muttered another small prayer. "I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand."
Mobuto just sighed next to me. I could tell that he didn't like me praying for their souls, but he didn't understand that I was only doing this as a precaution. If the Covenant turned out to be creatures of God and had souls then I would be doing what was right. If they didn't I would simply be annoying to a comrade-in-arms at most.
Who said that pragmatism and religion couldn't go hand-in-hand?
June 9, 2550 (UNSC Calendar)/one day later
PFC Hipolito "Polly" Gibson
Flick, flick, flick. Flick, flick, flick.
"Can you stop doing that?" Longworth groaned.
Flick, flick, flick. I palmed the butterfly knife in my hand and placed it back into the pouch in my belt.
"Why do you carry that thing, anyways?" he asked me. "That thing's too small to do any serious damage to anything. I mean, other than slashing necks of course."
I pulled the knife out again and flicked it open with a small smile. "The blade's shorter than usual, true," I admitted, "but it's hi-tech, laser sharpened. Stabbing might not do much damage, but this baby will slash through just about anything."
Longworth drew his combat knife. It was the larger version of our regular knife, big enough to be considered a machete. "This will also slash through just about anything," he said.
I shrugged. "I guess it's just a good luck charm then."
"An interesting one," he admitted in an unusual display of interest. "Why do you keep it."
"Remembrance," I said with a small shrug. "See anything?"
"Nope," he replied. "The slope's clear."
"Good," I said.
"But boring."
He had a point there. Just ten hours ago we had been in the middle of a heated battle with air and armor support on both sides, now that we had made it out of enemy-held ground it was all very quiet. The Covenant ground forces couldn't afford to focus on a small twenty man group when there was an entire Army Group moving in from both sides. They would be hard-pressed to get out of there alive, let alone send enough men to hunt us down. The covvies were still pretty big on revenge, so they might still be stupid enough to send a company or two here in order to make us pay for rendering their only strategic advantage moot.
"Boring's good," I said. "It means there's less screaming in my head."
"Dude…"
"Relax," I chuckled. "There's not screaming in my head."
"Don't joke about that," he said. "I've known a lot of good guys that went crazy."
I guess you can add one more to the list then… I knew that not having any emotion in me wasn't sane or healthy, but perhaps I could still find a way to make everything normal. To feel again.
"Bro?"
"What?" I asked.
"You dazed off for a second there."
"I'm tired."
"So am I," he said. "But you don't see me slacking off."
"That's because you've got the BR, I don't have a scope."
"You do realize that your helmet has a zoom function and night vision."
I grunted. "Yeah…"
Longworth sighed. "Just don't fall asleep, the El-tee will chew your ass out if he finds out. And that's after Gunny does the same thing."
"I won't fall asleep then," I said. "Besides, exfil should be here some time from now."
And just like clockwork my helmet's HUD came alive. "Fall back," Lieutenant Castillo said. "Pelicans are arriving."
"That's our cue," Longworth said, picking up his BR55 and getting off his belly. "Come on."
I picked up my MA5 and followed, climbing up the rocky slope and making my way through the hilltop. I couldn't help but notice that Longworth wasn't very comfortable behind me, but the guy was so good at everything that he couldn't handle not being first place in anything. The way he paced and fumed when the El-tee gave his ass a royal beating I would've chuckled, but there really was no point to it.
The rest of the team was already up here, some of them chatting and some of them sleeping. I would've liked getting some rest, but we would have the time for that later. Sergeant Mata was rousing some of the sleepers.
"Hey Sarge," Longworth said.
"Hold your position," he said. "Or better yet, watch my six."
"Right away, Sarge," I replied, nodding my head for Longworth to follow me. "Let's go Goldilocks."
"Don't ever call me that again," he grunted.
"You'll get your nickname soon enough," I warned him.
"I bet it's going to be better than Polly."
"I actually like that nickname," I replied. "It's better than all you mispronouncing my name."
"I don't mispronounce your name," he complained.
"Yeah, you do."
"No I don't. Hipolito. See?"
"Well, you don't get it quite right."
"Yeah I do," he complained. "I said it just right."
"No you didn't, watch. El-tee! How do you pronounce my name?"
"Hipolito," Castillo replied. "Please stop wasting my time."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir."
"He said it like I said it," Longworth muttered.
"But not quite," I said. "Don't worry, it's pretty hard for a non-Spanish speaker to get it a hundred percent right."
"Spanish speaker? Your last name is Gibson."
"Well, I'm sorry my name doesn't sound like it's out of a romance novel Sir Adrian Longworth."
"Romance novel?"
"He means erotic," Snark said. The guy just happened to walk by to get the best stingers.
"I know what he means," Longworth replied.
"That's sergeant to you," Snark said, moving past us.
"Is there a number after your name?" I asked. "Like 'The Fourth' or something like that."
"No," he said. "And stop pestering me, Polly."
"If you ask nicely, "I replied. "You hear that?"
"Yeah," he said. "Pelicans."
"To a successful first mission," I told him.
He paused to look at the birds. "Agreed. It was pretty much perfect."
"Pretty much perfect," I agreed. "And here's to more."
January 1, 2551 (UNSC Calendar)/seven months later
Corporal Aaron "Payat" Eidelberg
"What the hell happened to you?" I muttered, bandaging around Andrea's nasty wound. The spike had punched clean through her thigh armor and tore a sizeable piece of flesh. "No wonder they call you Magnet."
"You're not allowed to call me that," she spat out through her clenched jaw.
"Whatever you say," I muttered, tightening the bandages. "Stitches are in place and as you can see I've got you all patched up."
"When can I move?"
"Normally I'd tell you to wait until tomorrow for the biofoam to fuse everything together, but if it's an emergency you can walk with some help."
"Thanks Payat," she said.
"Why couldn't they just call me Doc?" I wondered out loud. "I'm a trained surgeon. A lot of hospitals would be happy to have me with them."
"I'm happy to have you here," she said. "You're a lot better at stitching people shut than the El-tee."
"I don't know how much of a compliment that is…"
An explosion rocked the small house.
"Looks like we're really starting to bother them," I mused. "I'm going to give you a painkiller, don't be surprised if you fall asleep."
"I won't," she said.
"Fall asleep or be surprised?" I asked.
She mumbled something and her head tilted sideways as she fell asleep. A little piece of the ceiling fell off and hit her in the head, prompting me to guffaw. She really was a magnet for all kinds of projectiles. Despite being the team's second medic she spent more time being worked on than working on wounded.
I moved a table over her in case the house decided to collapse and then climbed out of the basement.
"Payat, what the hell took you so long?!" Gunny Klaus shouted. "Move up to the third floor! West side, west side!"
"On it!" I shouted back, checking my assault rifle and climbing the stairs. We were being attacked from only one side, but they were giving us their best. A couple of carbine rounds punched through the wall and hit the wall next to my head, startling me. I shrugged it off and climbed through the third floor.
"Incoming!"
I ducked as a sizeable portion of the wall burst inwards, sending brick and wood in my direction.
"Some help here!"
I moved towards the voice asking for help, it was Almasi.
"Hey Pitcher," I said.
"Payat?" he replied. "I don't think anything's broken."
"Let's go," I muttered, pulling him out. "You ok?"
"Think so. Remind me why we were redirected here as opposed to a defensible ONI facility?"
"ONI agent took the information when the facility was attacked," I said. "Escaped and brought it here."
"And he was killed for his troubles," Pitcher finished. "Right. Now I remember."
"Are you sure you didn't get hit in the head?" I asked the Trooper.
"I'm pretty sure," he replied. "Come on."
Pitcher placed his rifle on the edge of the newly-made hole in the window and started firing, gunning down several grunts. I moved up next to him and started helping, removing jackals from the equation. I couldn't help but notice that brutes didn't make for the best tacticians. They were too brutal for that.
"Watch out!"
I rolled backwards, but the beam still managed to slice through my chest armor and undersuit.
"Ah, it burns!" I complained. "I could be working in a hospital right now!"
"I'm sorry Mr. Jewish Surgeon," Pitcher complained. "I thought we were over that."
"What does my religion have to do with anything?" I muttered. "I should be more focused on my profession."
"Are you hurt?" Pitcher asked.
"No," I said. "This kind of shit just fucking annoys me."
"Agreed," Pitcher nodded. "Now stop whining."
"You do realize I've got two full ranks over you?" I asked him. "I'd appreciate it if you acted like it."
"Yes, sir."
I rolled my eyes. "Watch those hedges," I ordered. "Five more minutes of this shit and our armored support will roll by."
"You know, when I was in the Army I was never promised and assured that my support would come. I was only told that they were working on something."
"Same thing for me," I said. "Even as an ODST I rarely got everybody to drop what they were doing and come get me."
"I guess being the elites of the elite does give you an advantage."
"I guess it does," I said. "House across, second story window."
"I see him," Pitcher said.
I leaned backwards and tried to get a good look at the gash in my chest. The armor was ruined, that much was for sure. But my chest was relatively unscathed, perhaps a few blisters and second degree burns at the most.
I could've been working in a hospital.
February 11, 2551 (UNSC Calendar)/one month later
Corporal Andrea "Magnet" Livingston
"Damn that tastes good," I sighed happily. "I needed this."
Miranda shrugged and smiled, taking a healthy swig from her own tankard of beer. "I aim to please," she said, mimicking the El-tee's voice.
We laughed over that and then drank some more. It had been a long time since the two of us had gotten to hang out together. Us ladies of VSF Squad of Platoon Five had become fast friends, not only had we been forced to work together because we were women, but as women, we enjoyed working together. It was a lot better than having to spend time with a man who tried to impress me and get in my pants. Whether they did it subconsciously or not didn't matter, it was still true.
"How's your hand?" I asked her.
She showed me. "The scar's almost gone," Miri said, "but the skin is still a little bit tight, you know?"
"Yeah," I said. "I do."
Our last deployment hadn't been particularly tough when one considered Paris IV, but after an idiot of a hero had decided to save vital information, we had been forced to relocate by foot and get the hard drives that ONI considered sacrosanct from an unsecured location deep behind enemy lines. Granted, we were going to do that in the first place, but we were supposed to drop inside the building and be evacuated five minutes later. The whole thing had become a daylong operation.
When I complained about this to Miranda she nodded thoughtfully.
"At least we've got a good improviser as a leader, huh?"
"Yeah," I agreed. "Castillo does have a talent for that. I don't know where we would be right now without his imagination."
"Here's to that," she said, offering a toast.
I clinked my tankard with hers and drank a little bit more of the beer. It was really something, these drink.
"It's just about a year since Team 7 was formed, isn't it?" Miri asked me. "Feels like a flash to me."
"Everything save for training camp. Castillo had a field day with that one."
"Yeah, he did," Miranda chuckled.
"He's a good leader, but sometimes I think that he's still stuck as a gunnery sergeant. I don't think he ever wanted to make officer."
"Well he certainly appears to enjoy it now," she said. "Bossing people around, waving his arms at other sergeants."
"He'd make for a great star in a doc vid."
"He does like theatrics," Miri admitted. "And I think it's rubbing off."
"On me?" I asked.
"On all of us. I mean, look at the facts."
"What facts?"
Miri didn't have to think about it for long. "Well, for starters, remember this time when you had to fight a jackal at close quarters? On our latest deployment."
"Yeah."
"Well, you disarmed it and slashed its chest, but instead of finishing it off you loped of one leg and then kicked its head in."
"So?" I asked, knowing that she had a point. "I still killed it."
"But it took you longer. And if someone had recorded it then it would've appeared a lot cooler."
"Yeah, but–"
"And then there was that time Ramirez used his prosthetics hydraulics to snap a brute's knee. That one was very impressive."
I shook my head. "That was a matter of life or death, not showmanship."
"You might recall that he had his SAW jammed down the throat of the brute in question?"
I gave a surrendering nod. Castillo and his stunts were very admirable. I had heard the story about the tank in the parachutes a thousand different times, but everybody kept saying just how incredible it had been. The covvie corvette that plummeted down from low orbit had also been another amusing story. I mean, running down a spinning warship that was in a freefall? That was like something out of a bad action flick.
"Then there was that time that Grigori used two knives to decapitate a grunt."
"Hmmm," I said, suddenly perking up. "Now there's something I can talk about. Staff Sergeant Grigori Konstantinov!"
Miranda groaned. "What about him?"
"What is it with you two? I mean, you go to great lengths to make it seem like you're not even on friendly terms. Soon enough people will start asking questions."
"We're not sleeping together," she said immediately. "Well, not really, at least."
I laughed. "What does that even mean?"
"I like Grigori," Miri admitted, "but we're not in a relationship. At least not a normal one."
"Again, what does that even mean?"
"We just talk. And hang out. We tried making it a physical thing, but there just wasn't any chemistry."
"There doesn't have to be any chemistry for sex to be pleasant," I said wisely. "Was it bad?"
"No, it just didn't feel… I don't know how to say it."
"I think that too much plasma fried your brains," I muttered. "You're telling me that you don't enjoy sex unless it's with someone you looove?"
Miranda groaned. "I'm not saying that."
"Then?"
"I'm just saying it's better that way."
"Ok," I said, slamming my palms on the table. "Look around you and tell me who the most attractive male in this room is."
Miranda stretched her neck around and eventually settled on a very good-looking kid in his early twenties. He looked fresh out of college, probably relaxing with his friends after a tiring week. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was handsome and had good shoulders.
"Good choice," I complimented. "Would you like to have sex with him?"
"What?"
I chuckled. For a veteran ODST and special operator Miri did tend to be very innocent. It was almost as if I was talking to a ten year old about sex. I laughed a little bit as she flushed violently and then drank a bit more beer while I waited for her to calm down some.
"Physically. Do you find him attractive enough to fuck?"
"Well… y-yes," she said after some hesitation.
"Good, then that's the guy that will take you home tonight."
"Andy, you can't just decide that!"
"I just did," I told her. "Excuse me! Excuse me! Yes, you, with the blue eyes. My friend here thinks you're cute and wants you to buy her a drink!"
"Andrea!" Miranda complained. "What are you doing?"
"Too late," I apologized, getting up and letting the sexy young guy sit in front of Miranda. She smiled awkwardly and I made myself towards the bar. There were still a couple of other men that looked like they knew how to handle a woman. It was still early and I didn't want to go home all by myself, especially not on my first night out after a deployment.
June 8, 2551 (UNSC Calendar)/four months later
Specialist Four Eric "Tank" O'Neal
Highty-tighty, Christ almighty,
Who the hell are we?
Zip-Zam, God damn,
We're airborne infantry!
"We're airborne infantry," I muttered happily under my breath.
"What was that, Tank?" Bee asked over his shoulder.
"Nothing," I said quickly. A little bit too quickly. In this Marine-dominated environment sometimes it was best to make no mention of my past as an Army Airborne trooper, it had started some memorable arguments. It was a little bit hard to do that when I was the only one here that wore the standard Airborne BDUs as opposed to the ODST battle armor that everybody else were. Granted, there was a little leeway here in the AAG, and some of us had chosen armor and equipment that didn't come with the standard ODST armor, but if you looked at us from a distance you wouldn't guess that we were anything but an ordinary Helljumper unit.
At least my AA helmet was similar enough that it didn't draw comment from regular troops.
"Tank, wake up."
I grunted and nodded, grabbing the rocket launcher that Bee was offering me and shouldering it. I looked through the specialized scope, reminding myself that I should remove it from the discarded launch tubes before abandoning them. The scope alone was worth quite an amount of money.
"There's the walker," Bee muttered, shouldering his Spartan Laser. "Son of a bitch has been making it hell for the Fourteenth."
I nodded slowly. Scarabs had a way of making life a living hell.
"On my signal," he said. "You got it?"
"Yes," I said. "Forward right leg."
"Good," he replied, adjusting his aim accordingly. "Fire."
I tapped the trigger twice, feeling barely any recoil from the rocket launcher. I watched as the two missiles streaked across the sky. They collided right with the knee joint of the walker, tearing out the relatively light armor and damaging the machinery behind it. A fraction of a second after the two missiles detonated a brilliant red light hit the knee as well, going through the damaged armor and melting anything on its way.
"That's a hit," Bee said. "Good job. That should buy them enough time to climb on board and clear the walker."
"Why is this a good idea, again?" I asked him, detaching the scope from the SPANKr and pocketing it.
"It's worked before," he told me. "Only that it involved an experimental railgun and two men as opposed to a Spartan Laser, a rocket launcher, and three fireteams."
"Sometimes I think you make that shit up," I grunted, jumping down a hole in the floor. "I'd really like to see that one time."
"The El-tee's got it all recorded," Bee replied, jumping down next to me and cocking his M7S. "It was very impressive. They even gave him a medal for it."
"Who was the other man?"
"Staff Konstantinov."
I raised an eyebrow. The man always seemed like a competent fighter and a decent leader, but he didn't strike me as the kind of man who would climb on board a Scarab walker alongside the El-tee. Perhaps one year wasn't enough time to fully get to know those I was fighting alongside.
"You hear that?" Bee asked.
I turned around just in time to shoot at a jackal coming through the door. I kept blasting at the wall with my assault rifle, hoping that some of the bullets would go through. Bee was quick to throw a grenade through the doorway and then another one for good measure before going through. He fired a short burst at a wounded elite and then gave me the all-clear sign.
"I see dead people," he said with a smile.
"They aren't people," I corrected.
"No, it's a– Nevermind."
"They know we're here," I said slowly.
Bee nodded. "Probably, but these were likely just coming here in an attempt to flank or something."
"Anyways, we should move," I urged.
"When you say it like that," Bee said. "Come on."
He was a peculiar man, Agnarsson. Not only did he seem almost unfazed by most things going around him, he also appeared to actively work to set himself for obscure references or sardonic comments. He would've been a Scottish version of Snark except that nobody except the El-tee got his comments. Oh, and he had a tendency to be extremely loud the rest of the time, unlike the deceptively quiet Snark.
"Watch out!" I yelled.
We ducked just as a barrage of plasma hit the wall behind us. The rubble of the building across the street made a very effective impromptu trench, and we quickly started moving through, providing suppressing fire at random intervals.
"Did you see them?" Bee asked me.
"Negative," I replied. "We should've brought more rockets."
"Agreed," he said, "but lucky for you, I like my explosives."
As he said this he produced an uncomfortably large brick of C-12 explosive compound from his butt-pouch. He tossed it in the air and then started stretching it before grabbing one of his grenades.
"Think this is enough to bring that building down?" he asked.
"A part of it," I admitted. Half a pound of C-12 could punch through a lot of rock.
"Well," he said after his grenade was completely covered in the plastic explosive. "Here's to hoping. The moment I toss this we run like hell."
I nodded. "We run like hell."
Bee threw the improvised demolition pack and stood up from his crouch, firing at the unseen covvies. "Run, Forrest, run!"
November 17, 2551 (UNSC Calendar)/five months later
Special Warfare Operator Third Class Natasha "Lady" Krieger
I hated my life right now. Not only because I had to wear this totally unflattering piece of shit armor, but because I had been paired with two equally annoying idiots who seemed to make a game out of giving me a bad time. I knew that they did it for one of two reasons: either they were jealous of my social background or they were intimidated by my looks. It was always one of those with men. With women it tended to be the latter.
"Please," I said. "I'm begging you, just shut up."
"As you command, Lady," Dotsenko said.
"Right away, Lady," Ramirez said.
"And stop calling me that."
"As Lady pleases," Ramirez acknowledged with a nod of the head. "Perhaps Princess will suffice?"
"Seriously?" I complained, mostly to myself. These two dumb brutes would keep going until they stopped being amused. I guess I could ignore them, but their stupidity was hard to stay quiet at.
"Tash, what did you expect?" Dotsenko scoffed, letting just enough of a Slavic accent drip into his voice. My father would've liked him; called him a proper Russian man even if he wasn't even Earth-born. "Especially that one time you made a show over your broken nail."
"Or that time you decided to complain during the whole mission about how ineffective the ODST drop pods are," Ramirez added. "Or when you said that the fabric of the undersuits was low quality."
"You do realize that those undersuits are more expensive than anything your daddy could buy in a boutique?" Dotsenko asked.
"Both of you, shut up," I said assertively. Normally it worked. Ever since high-school people had made sure to do as I said. My father's trust fund was large enough that my classmates understood the advantages of doing what I did and my looks were good enough that boys just wanted to do what I told them to.
Except for Al Kross. God damn that man.
"You hear that?" I asked suddenly, lacing my voice with urgency.
Both the machine gunners went deadly quiet and half turned over the debris to see if they could catch whatever it was I had heard. I grabbed a palm-sized rock and smashed both of their helmets.
"The sound of your hollow heads!" I said. "Idiots!"
"What the hell's wrong with you, Lady?" Ramirez complained. "Chingada madre."
"What does that even mean?" I asked him sweetly.
"It means you're a bitch," Dotsenko said, kicking me hard enough that I slid down the mountain of rubble a couple of meters.
"Hey!"
"Listen Lady, unless you're having your period, you'd better have a damn good reason to be behaving like this," Ramirez said sternly.
"What the hell, you pig!"
Before anything else could happen a burst of gunfire hit the space in between my head and Dotsenko's leg. All three of us immediately made ourselves as small a target as possible before we realized that gunfire had to be friendly.
"All three of you be quiet," Castillo's voice came in. "Next time I might just mistake you for infiltrating grunts."
"Sir," Ramirez began. "I really do have to protest your methods."
"Oh, do you James?" Castillo asked sarcastically. "In that case I want to put into record that I want to protest your childish attitude. The same goes for Sasha and Lady. I mean, what the hell is wrong with you? We're in the middle of an operation that could potentially liberate this city and you're bitching to each other."
As pedestrian as the lieutenant might've been, he did bring up a good time. I was enough of a – for lack of a better word – lady. I could keep quiet if these two dumb brutes did the same thing. However, him firing a non-suppressed blast was very contradictory. He was a mass of contradictions that man. Most of the time he seemed the very model of an officer. He was hard and stern but also gentlemanlike and educated. Then out of the blue he would become a cursing pig that seemed to be staring at something right over your shoulder and barely listened to what you were saying.
At least he wasn't too hard on the eyes though. Still, daddy would never approve, best I could figure he was a colony kid, but he had mentioned something about being born on Earth. That meant that the guy was bottom class and his parents had saved up enough money to move out to a low-population colony in order to have a job. At least that's what I figured.
"Lady, Sasha, Ramirez," Snark checked in through the radio. "I've got a small unit of jackals headed your way. Five of them."
"I wonder what drew their attention," I muttered under my breath.
Ramirez and Dotsenko looked at each other and moved out of the small gap in the pile of debris and carefully placed their SAWs at their feet as they drew their knives. I rolled my eyes. For some reason or other they had chosen not to bring suppressed pistols, leaving them with no stealth capabilities whatsoever.
"Give me green lights when they come through," I told them, drawing my silenced pistol and climbing the rest of the way down before hiding behind a piece of wall that was still standing. I had to give it to the jackals, I really needed to take out my anger on something.
November 17, 2551 (UNSC Calendar)/
Sergeant Naveen "Snark" Avninder
I watched from the rooftop of my ten-story building as our resident princess popped from cover and took out four of the jackals I had spotted. She left the last one for Ramirez, who gleefully jumped forward and grabbed it tightly before plunging his knife down the bird's throat. I watched attentively as the last bird kicked to no avail as its life poured out of its throat.
Thinking a little bit like a psychopath now, are we?
"Hm, hm, hmmm," I broadcast. "That was some fine marksmanship Lady."
"Every time someone calls her that it sounds like a black man," Longworth noted.
"I take offense to that," Polly said.
"You're not black," Ramirez said. "You're café con leche."
"Milk and coffee," Lieutenant Castillo helpfully translated. "Or mocha if you prefer."
"Tank, however, is very much black," Polly said, referring to O'Neal. "What do you think, Tank?"
"That was some fine marksmanship, Lady," Tank said, drawing laughter from all of us.
"All right, all right," Castillo cut us off. "Enough for now. Reaper should be linking up with the Eleventh soon."
"About that," I said. "Why did Gunny's squad get to be called Reaper?"
"What's so bad about Predator?" Lady asked. "Not intimidating enough?"
"Back in the day when the El-tee was only a sergeant the squad he commanded was codename Reaper," Ramirez explained using a tone very much akin to a patient teacher.
I smiled, preparing for another outburst from Lady. That woman was a comedy goldmine. I had refrained from commenting because if I responded to every last one of her comments then my one-liners would stop being expected. It felt bad having to pull back like this, but it only meant that I would get a really good zinger in before the day was over.
"What did I just say?" El-tee asked. "Seriously?"
"Sorry, sir," Ramirez apologized.
Predator Squad went quiet once again. I couldn't help but resent Bee for getting to be on the new Reaper. Ever since El-tee had formed Team-7 we had been divided into numbered fireteams or squads. It was only in this deployment that he decided that it would be a good idea to give the squads names. Apparently, nostalgia affected all of us. Predator wasn't such a bad name when it came down to it, but I had gone through so much as part of Reaper. I still missed Angel and Grass sometimes. I had met with Grass for drinks a couple of times, the girl was going places, but Angel was still completely off-grid. I knew that Bee had tried to track him down and I suspected that Grass and El-tee had done the same thing, but Angel was damn good with computers. I remember that one time he bragged about being able to circumvent a program guarded by a dumb AI.
I didn't believe him, of course. Still don't.
Stop musing Naveen…
I shook myself back into the real world and bean scanning through my Oracle scope. The night vision on this thing was beautiful, I could see everything in beautiful detail with it, even if everything was saturated in green. I switched to thermal and made sure to check the whole perimeter with it. One of the jackals was still putting out some heat, but it quickly faded into the background. When I raised my rifle the fires in the city illuminated the screen of my scope.
Ah well. No targets for today.
This had been a quiet deployment. Granted, the assassination part of assassination mission hadn't come up yet, but we needed Reaper and the Eleventh to blow up a convoy. I frowned for a second when I remembered that. The whole mission was based on a sketchy ONI intel report on the hingehead in command of this particular covvie army. From what little they knew of him, the xenopsychologists had decided that the elite was the kind that liked to lead from the front. If we caused mayhem so close to its headquarters then it would leave the safety of the HQ building to fight. And get a bullet through the brain.
"That's Pavel's signal," Castillo said. "Ok Predator, we're on the move. Let's go, let's go, let's go."
I grabbed my SRS-99C and pulled it over my head. The goddamn rifle was longer than I was tall, but I'll be damned if it wasn't the finest weapon in existence. Sometimes I would've preferred the standard version, if only because of its length, but a shorter barrel meant a shorter range, and twenty extra centimeters of barrel meant a whole lot more range.
I climbed down the building, hitting a wall with the tip of my rifle more than once. I rolled my eyes at that. I knew I wasn't the tallest man out there, but when some genius in the weapons section decided to make the standard-issue sniper rifle as tall as the average man you knew that something was wrong.
I stopped on the second floor and took a couple of breaths.
I miss Scarecrow…
December 25, 2551 (UNSC Calendar)/one month later
First Lieutenant Francisco Castillo
"Are you and Katie fighting again?" Pavel asked.
I chuckled and downed another shot of whiskey. "She's the perfect woman Pavel. What's even worse is that's she's perfect for me. She'll take all the shit I give her and will keep on believing in me. It's not healthy."
"Come on, Frank," Pavel said. "I'm sure it's not that bad…"
I shook my head. "I don't know, every time I feel like I'm hurting her, you know? But at the same time I'm not strong enough to let her go. And what's worse, sometimes Hanna comes up."
"It's been two years Frank," Pavel said.
"Yeah, but something like that, it's hard getting over it."
"Frank," he said. "You've managed to get drunk and you're feeling philosophical. We can talk about this tomorrow when you're sober."
"All right," I said, recognizing the truth his words. "But I'm not ready to go home just yet."
Pavel shrugged. "If you say so. Frank, Katie's a good girl and you'd do well to stop hurting her."
"We'll make up," I told him. "I'll apologize and promise that it'll never happen again. And for a while I'll really try. Then something will come along."
"Listen son," Montgomery cut in, "I know it's none of my business, but it sounds to me like you're treating this girl like shit."
"And I love her," I laughed. "Isn't that fucked up."
"Very," Pavel said before addressing the captain. "Take care of him will you?"
"I always do," Montgomery replied, pouring me another shot of whiskey.
"You going to stay till morning?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"I was just about to close. You don't mind locking it down, do you?"
I shook my head. "Anything I can do to help."
"Good," Montgomery said, grabbing a full bottle of whiskey and placing it on the bar. "Don't tell Pavel I went upstairs to catch some sleep."
"I won't," I promised, grabbing the bottle. "Good night."
"I'll charge you for that bottle," he said.
"I wouldn't expect anything else."
I leaned backwards on my stool after Montgomery disappeared into the second story that was his apartment. For a moment I teetered on the edge of balance before I brought my head back up violently. I shook myself and poured myself another glass of medium-quality whiskey.
"That clever bastard," Schitzo said. "He gave you the expensive bottle, knowing full well that by this point you can't taste the difference."
"I owe him at least that," I replied, drinking half the glass. "He's been good to me."
"Yes he has," Schitzo admitted. "And you've been good to his wallet."
"Shut up," I slurred. "Nobody likes you!"
"I'm sorry, is the place still open?"
I turned around on my stool so clumsily that I almost fell off it. "You're not Sch–" I began before I caught myself. "Sorry, what?"
"Is the place open?" The source of the voice was a pretty woman, not much longer than I was. Brown hair tied in a professional-looking ponytail. She was wearing civilian clothing that fit her quite well, but I could tell that she was a military woman.
"Not technically," I admitted with a shrug. "But you look like you need a drink."
"Or three," she admitted with a rueful smile.
"What's wrong?" I asked, leaning over the counter and grabbing another whiskey glass, pouring her a double shot.
"Lot's of things," she said. "But apparently not as much as you've got going on."
I laughed loudly. "That's funny. That's funny."
She shrugged and downed the alcohol. While she was wincing from the aftertaste she urged me to pour her another one and before long she was as drunk as I was. We started talking more freely and I realized that I was about to run out of alcohol.
"Gimme that," she mumbled, tearing the bottle from my grip. "You've had enough."
"And you haven't?" I asked, trying to get the bottle back from her. As I did that I accidentally placed my hand on her thigh, trying to reach the bottle as she placed it behind her head.
"No!" she said, ignoring the presence of my hand. "Besides, I'm a lady, I should get the last drink."
Before I could really react I found myself being passionately kissed by the woman. She seemed equally surprised by her own reaction, enough that after she broke off she looked at the bottle doubtfully.
"So what's your problem?" I asked her.
"A lot of my friends are dead," she said. "And I'm getting a medal for it."
"Ah," I nodded understandingly. "I know the feeling."
"Do you really?"
"Yes," I said. "You don't go through seventeen years in the Corps without losing some friends."
"You're a jarhead?" she asked, her interest piqued.
"Not only a jarhead," I replied, lifting my shirt sleeve to show her my ODST tattoo.
"What do you know?" she muttered, taking of her jacket to display a similar tattoo on her upper arm.
I couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing a bra.
"And what is this award they gave you?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from her cleavage.
"A medal," she said. "And a redeployment."
"Ah… where exactly?"
She smiled and shook her head. Apparently she was still very drunk. I smiled back and suddenly realized that my hand were resting firmly on her hips. Apparently I was also very drunk.
"Top secret?"
I nodded gravely. "So," I said, leaning in very closely. "What's your name?"
"You haven't told me yours."
"Lieutenant Francisco Castillo at your service ma'am."
She gave me a quick kiss, deciding that the last drink of whiskey could wait. I let my arms link up behind her and smiled a little bit. Katie was the last thing on my mind.
"Lieutenant Sarah Palmer, at yours."
Thanks for reading this chapter.
Sorry, I couldn't resist. I know someone suggested the Palmer thing some time ago, believe it or not I came up with the idea maybe two days before that. Sometimes I think that the only friend I talk with about plot ideas makes numerous accounts to review and boost my self esteem. Sometimes you guys are dead-on.
Well, this chapter was here mostly to burn through a year and a half and to get to know the new characters a bit more before they die horrible and painful deaths. Or not, I guess it's up to you guys. On an unrelated note, I recommend you guys watch the following series: The Spectacular Spider-Man, Gossip Girl (yes.), and Community.
I'm sorry about the lack of puppies, but I hope you still enjoyed reading this.
Stay strong.
-casquis
PS: Lovely quote, huh?