Chapter 42 – Memento
April 15th, 2542 - (12:07 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Csaba Mountain Range, Falchion Base
(10 Years Ago)
:********:
Reach was very different from Estuary. Very different.
For one thing, the climate was more moderate. The temperature sat at a comfortable evenness, so much so that the first thing to greet Rico as the door of the Pelican's troop bay groaned open was a gust of the most refreshing breeze he'd ever felt. It was nothing like the hot, tropical breath of the Grenadenes that he was used to. He appreciated that. Swinging his duffel over his shoulder, he walked alongside a dozen other black-shirted ODSTs that the dropship had taken to the surface. Passing down the ramp from the dark of the bay into the light of day, he got his first solid glimpse of Falchion Base.
The nearby buildings almost reminded him of a small-town set into five neighborhoods, each an outbranching extension of the miniature city that lay ahead. The layout gave him a strange feel, as if the military planners decided to establish a UNSC-styled settlement in the outline of a giant maple leaf. Up ahead, Falchion's more congested center rose up in tandem with the gentle rise at the base of Mount Csaba. The high shoulders and ice-capped tips of the Csaba mountain range spanned out from left to right so that he couldn't be sure if there was a world beyond them. He wasn't used to mountains at all. There'd been few if any on Madrigal and virtually none on Estuary. In that moment, it was like being an ant among mice, not knowing there was something even bigger than that until an elephant came loping along.
He came out onto the landing pad with the rest of the new arrivals. Across the way from them, several more landing pads stood out on the more open-ended part of this section of the base. There, even more ODSTs were piling out from landed Pelicans. He counted almost a hundred in all. Every single one of them was like himself, a new face being brought into the fold.
The Marines had treated him well, as well as could be expected of the Corps. He had done exactly as he'd told his uncle he would, but not right away. He spent a full year pulling brief stints as part of the on-base military police on a different planet. Added on top of that were the nonstop tug-of-wars of deployments between the worlds that lay within the gray zone between the inner and outer colonies. The latter had been a unique kind of hassle. It saw him assisting local law enforcement who were increasingly stretched thin by nascent rebellions. As it turned out, there were still many embers left of the old Insurrection that saw their chance to heat back up. For the planetary authorities, the encroaching threat of the Covenant and the growing desperation of the UNSC acted like blood in the water. He knew exactly what they were, more wannabe revolutionaries like his uncle and the people of the Grenadenes. Kicking in doors and arresting bomb makers before they could make trouble for the closest UNSC installation or police academy was always a bittersweet affair. It gave him the chance to shove a boot where the sun didn't shine for the kind of people he hated the most, tomorrow's tyrants posing as today's liberators. But it also reminded him of the promise he was yet to keep.
That all changed in the following year when he got his first real combat deployments. Two of them were exactly what he'd been hoping for and had proved to be exactly what he'd been expecting. He fought the Covenant on the ground in over a dozen engagements. He likewise managed to blood the enemy in each one. He even went so far as to kill a handful of Elites on his own, well, along with the help of a few pre-planted charges.
He also survived the glassings that followed.
Unlike those of his comrades who hadn't seen such things before, he wasn't disheartened by it. He wasn't downcast whenever he looked through the rear bay window of Pelicans hightailing it through the atmosphere. He would watch, witnessing the eye watering glow of glassing beams descending from the bellies of Covenant cruisers without looking away.
He was just pissed, angry that he couldn't do more.
Doing more, however, was still on the table.
He'd seen ODSTs in action before. An entire company of them had once landed around the entrenched position of what remained of his regiment at one of the last evacuation points on a planet. The black-armored troopers jumped out of their pods with immediate violence of action, meeting the armored columns that had been pounding them for hours with flanking maneuvers and rapid encirclements. Hundreds upon hundreds of Covenant troops that would have taken them hours to deal with were slaughtered in a quarter of the time. He never forgot that. If it weren't for the smoke from burning cars and smoldering asphalt that he'd spent the better part of a week surrounded by, the scene would've taken his breath away.
The move ensured their extraction corridor could stay open for several more days. They were able to get tens of thousands more civilians to the safety of commandeered freighters, much more than they had expected, before newly arriving battlecruisers put an end to the operation.
The ODSTs had saved them that day.
He felt he owed them one, and what better way to pay them back than to join them?
So, he did. He remembered the proud look in the eye of his platoon leader as the second lieutenant added a personal letter of recommendation to his paperwork. He knew he would be missed but he refused to miss his chance for more. To do more, to see more, to kill more.
The endorsement of his commanding officer as well as the record of his own career service vitae turned out to be exactly what the ODSTs were looking for. He was accepted into the program. Hurled down the life altering and, at times, life-threatening training pipeline that the shock troops were known for, he was taught to crawl, walk, run and most importantly how to jump all over again. There were moments where taking potshots from Elites that were trying to blow his head off sounded more peaceful than another day in that simulated hell. Just like those moments, however, he survived these as well.
Just like his Marine graduation, no one was there to see him become an ODST.
Plenty of onlookers saw him, but they weren't there for him. He took no pictures with excited family who had seen him through his first steps. Instead, it mostly boiled down to proud drill instructors who remembered the shivering little wretch from mere nights before that now stood in full regalia. It didn't bother him this time. He hoped maybe the latter would be enough for him. Going forward, it would be people like them, men and women who had seen more than most would dream and worse than most could imagine, who would be the closest thing he would have to a familia.
Two months later and he was here at Falchion. He was here to become a part of the 105th Shock Troops Division, 7th Battalion, Bravo Company. This would be his new life and Reach would be his new home. He liked it so far.
On the ground in front of the landing pads were seven convoys of Warthog troop carriers. There were more than enough vehicles for all of the new arrivals to take a field trip into the Csaba mountain range. He wouldn't have minded that, but he was positive that wasn't the reason they were here. What looked like several squads of troopers dressed similarly to them stood in front of the Hogs. They were waiting expectantly, arms crossed, datapads in hand. Their eyes scanned over the new faces, waiting for the groups to come to them rather than vice versa.
The arrivals knew better than to keep them waiting. They jogged down the stairs of the landing pads and assembled in front of the different gatherings. Each of them had been split up into their groups while back aboard the frigate that had slipped them into Epsilon Eridani. The officer in charge told them they were being divided among Bravo Company's platoons. Rico hadn't thought anything about it then. Now that his boots were on the ground, however, questions started popping into his mind that he hadn't considered during the flight.
There were at least a hundred new ODSTs being added to Bravo Company.
Just one company.
Whether they were a part of an expansion of overall manpower for the battalion or were stepping into the boots of others, he couldn't say, but he quietly hoped for the first one.
His group split up further into around six troopers. They stopped in front of a trio who looked every inch as intimidating as ODSTs in full armor. They weren't in full armor. They were dressed as casually as them and yet he could immediately sense the difference between them. He'd been hardened enough by war to have a hard time fitting in with civilians, but he was sure he could spot an experienced ODST a mile away.
The first of them was a woman with dark hair and feline features, less a house cat on the couch and more a tiger in the grass. As for the two men, one of them was tall and burly, a retired Gravball player if he'd ever seen one. The other was more average in height but wore a look of grim contemplation that made Rico feel a lot more self-conscious than he was prepared for.
The first trooper's attention shifted between each of them like a predator eyeing prey. He didn't need to hear her speak to tell she was the commanding officer. Nevertheless, a few seconds of inspection later and she was giving them the rundown.
"Afternoon." She said, hands on hips. "My name's Captain Harper and I'm in charge of 1st Platoon. As of now, you're under me."
She pointed to the two men standing beside her, NCOs by the looks of them. "This is Sergeant David Atell and Sergeant Ben Joels. They handle Squads Epsilon and Echo respectively. I handle Eagle. Today, we're going to be splitting you up among the three of us and giving you a quick run around with regards to Falchion."
Rico sized up each of them in turn, wondering which one he would end up calling his squad leader. Joels looked tough, but with the subtle glint in his eye, he had the air of someone who would be the life of the party once he got a few drinks in him. Not so with Atell. The man looked deathly serious. He seemed like he was in his late 20s but had the grizzled presence of a middle-aged veteran. Rico had seen NCOs like him before, the strict, stern type that kept their men at a distance until it was time for the next operational workup. The type who didn't bother learning the names of those whose dog tags they would soon have to collect anyway. He didn't say it, but he hoped he would be assigned to Squad Echo.
The woman who introduced herself as Captain Harper held up a datapad from which Rico glimpsed a list of names. "Once we've gotten you settled into your barracks, you'll be free to explore the base. But you better stay on it. It's mating season for some of the larger fauna in the region. Gúta are the main concern out here, about 10 tons worth of claws, teeth and attitude problems. You wouldn't want to run into one of those around here, especially now, and if you'd be so kind, I'd rather not get you and lose you all in the same day."
Rico had no idea what a 'Gúta' was but he sure as hell didn't like the sound of them. He peeked out the corner of his eye at the distant perimeter fences where the grassy grounds sloped down from Falchion's manmade plateau.
"Any questions?" Harper asked as she brought the pad to her eye.
One of them raised a hand.
She didn't even look up. "No? Perfect. Alright, let's get it done."
He listened while she riddled off the names in quick succession. His was called in short order.
"Rico Corkeva, Squad Epsilon."
He swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat, but it didn't seem to go down. His gaze flickered over to the sergeant then down to the ground. In that split-second, he made his first eye contact with the man he was soon to follow into battle. The gaze he saw in turn was mildly curious and left him with a flit of embarrassment, as if the man could hear his thoughts and disagreed.
Harper slipped her pad into her pants pocket. "And that's that. How about it, you two? You satisfied?"
A smile crossed Joel's lips, the kind of jovial hardiness of a seasoned lumberjack for whom a hard day's work was no work at all.
"I like it." Joels said. "Three for me, two for you, one for Davey. But I feel kinda bad."
He side-eyed his shorter comrade. "How about it, brother? Think you need one more?"
Atell gave a slow, watchful shake of his head. "I'm not picky. I told you, I only needed one."
His matter-of-fact tone only increased Rico's trepidation, trying to make himself look normal as the sergeant paid him another inspecting look.
"Then it's settled." Harper said. "All for one and one for Dave."
Joels shrugged. "Your loss, I guess. I feel like I'm getting the better end of the deal out of the three of us."
The captain turned back to the group. "Heads up, troopers, we're rolling out. Remember your assignments and stick close to your squad leads. It's easy to get lost out here the first day. Echo, you're in the Hog up front. Eagle, you're with me in the middle. Epsilon, you're in the six. Move out."
The new additions of 1st Platoon shadowed the trio of veterans to the small convoy parked behind them.
Rico was heading to the back of the nearest troop carrier when he realized that his new squad leader was coming straight for him. He stopped beside the vehicle where their paths met.
"You, trooper." The sarge called.
Despite how desensitized he'd grown to being addressed by authority; Rico quickly stiffened with disciplined rigidity.
"Sir?" He asked, quietly cursing his nerves.
The sergeant stopped right in front of him, looking him up and down. "I'll need that name again."
Rico swallowed and almost coughed at how dry his throat felt. "Rico. Rico Corkeva, sir."
"Rico." Atell nodded to himself as if he'd learned everything he needed to know. "You were a Marine?"
Rico winced. "H-, how-, how'd you guess that one, sir?"
"Stay in this business long enough and you start to notice the difference. You don't look like you're ready to throw yourself off a building just for being here, so you're not Army. You don't look like you're here to have a good time either, so definitely not Navy. As for the Marines, well," A slight, unexpected smirk crossed the sergeant's face. "You look like you'd fit just fine in a straitjacket, so it makes sense."
"Ugh, is-, is that a good thing, sir?" Rico stuttered, holding onto his duffel more tightly.
"Hell yeah it is." Someone said. "Welcome to the asylum, new blood."
Another ODST leaned out from the driver's seat. Rico noticed he looked around the same age as him. He was almost as big as Joels but without as much mirth, more like the other sergeant, bearing a contemplative mien seasoned with specks of curiosity and barely restrained amusement.
"Oh yeah," The driver said as he took in an eyeful of him. "Definitely a Marine."
"How can everybody just tell that?" Rico asked on the verge of frustration.
"Well, the cut doesn't help if you're trying to keep it on the downlow." The driver pointed to the low faded mohawk on the top of his head, the style that a former barber turned brother in arms had shown him shortly after leaving Estuary.
"Huh." Rico padded at his lineup, remembering the others who'd had it in his unit. "Guess you're right."
"Worry about your fade later." The sergeant said. "The convoy's moving, hop in."
Rico hadn't even realized when the sarge had left him for the passenger's seat or when the other two Hogs had pulled off. The latter were already putting some distance between them. He quickly threw his duffel onto one of the seats in the troop section and hoisted himself aboard.
The driver switched on the engine and got them underway. They sped up to a point where they had caught up to the rear of the convoy, keeping the formation whole while they went on a leisurely drive.
Falchion was somehow much bigger than he was led to believe. Landing on the outskirts of it all hadn't done it any justice. What seemed like a small town was really a city in miniature, including commissaries, training facilities, mess halls and other structures that he wasn't too sure about. At one point he thought he spotted one or two restaurants. The sidewalks and roads were equally busy with fatigue sporting pedestrians and lightly armored vehicles, the Hogs being in the greatest abundance. He'd been on plenty of bases before but something about this one felt unique. The others were always close to major population centers. Falchion was the opposite. It was isolated in the middle of a mountainous region that appeared otherwise uninhabited. It was like being back in the Grenadenes again but so much more, a vision of what Isla de Cortegada should've been.
Perhaps it was the crisp mountain air or something else. Either way, he felt alive and grounded in a world he recognized and yet one far from familiar. Given his life before, he always counted that last one as a bonus.
The convoy pulled to a stop at a traffic light.
As they waited for the green, the sergeant peered over his shoulder. "So, Rico, if you don't mind me asking and I'm sure you don't, what was your MOS before you decided on dying young?"
He caught the joke but didn't laugh at it, not because two years in the Corps hadn't taught him the benefits of a dark sense of humor but because of who said it.
He gathered his thoughts as fast as he could. "Ammunition and explosive ordnance disposal, sir. It's my specialty."
The Staff said nothing for a while. Whether he was taking in the information or judging him for it, all was unclear.
"Not gonna lie." The driver intruded as the light turned green, freeing the convoy and himself for a left turn. "I was kind of hoping for something like, oh I don't know, a CQC guy or a medic. I'm tired of having a certain redhead being the one to patch me up whenever I really need it."
Atell gave him a look that said to knock it off.
He shrugged back as they wheeled onto a new road that was less busy than the one they'd left. "I mean, explosives are cool and all, but I can pop a 40-millimeter on a Grunt no problem."
"From 200-meters?" Rico asked, his pride practically daring him to say it.
The driver spared a glance back at him and Rico could tell he had a challenge on his mind, a dare of his own. It quietly yielded to something like approval.
"Oh yeah, and you can?"
"Can and have." He replied, feeling like he was starting to get his sea legs in this new ocean of his life. "Three actually."
"Ooh, a suicide squad?"
"You know it."
"Sarge, I take it back. Can we keep him?"
The sergeant was peering over at a large building off to their right that looked like an administrative center. "That's the plan. The question now is where he fits into all this. I guess we've got our answer."
"Well, after that little stunt the tooth fairy tried to pull on our last drop, the captain actually deciding to get us an official Demo guy just about adds up. Hey Ricky, can I call you Ricky? What's the most ordnance you've ever blown up in one place?"
Rico thought about it. "About...50 pounds of C12."
The driver whistled. "Jeez. What, were you trying to take out a Scarab or something?"
The memory of a dozen small mushroom clouds rising from the old mine flashed through his head. "...No, but close."
Before the man could pounce on more prying questions, Rico remembered that he'd called him Ricky and decided to flip the script.
"What's your name by the way?"
"Hector Paulson," He replied. "Nice to meet yuh."
With one hand on the wheel, he held out another for him to shake. Rico did just that and was surprised at how strong his grip was.
"You...drive?"
"I'm a ground vehicle operator." Hector corrected. "But yeah, I drive. If it's on the ground, I can take it to town. That's my motto. Yours?"
Rico shrugged. "Eat, pray, kill."
Hector and the sergeant shared a look.
"An honest to God Marine if I ever saw one." The latter said.
"I like it." Hector replied. "Short, sweet and to the point. Speaking of which,"
He made a right behind the convoy down another intersection, taking them onto a road with a gentle, upwards slope. They were heading back in the direction of the mountain. Its forested neck and snow-capped head loomed far beyond.
Rico's attention was drawn to the largest building on the street. It had about ten floors from what he could tell. Emblazoned with the flaming death's head of the ODSTs was a sign on the top floor that read: 'Dante'.
The convoy slowed until they eased to a stop near the front doors. Rico saw the squad leaders hop out first and echoed their example with the others, dropping down onto well paved asphalt.
A series of glass doors lined the ground floor and he could see what looked like a lobby waiting on the other side.
With the new arrivals assembled on the sidewalk, the captain stopped short of one of the doors and turned to address them.
"This here is the Dante Building, Bravo Company's barracks. You'll be calling it home for the time being and you will continue to do so until either you retire, or you don't make it back. Be advised, that first option isn't all too common around here...but I guess you already knew that."
Rico sensed a bit of enjoyment from the captain as a silent nervousness passed among the fresh faces, himself included.
"Anyway. Though Alpha Company's thinking of changing the name on theirs, they have the Naraka Building to the east of here. Delta has Jahannam to the south and Echo has Gehenna in the north. As you can tell, we're very into the fire theme around here. Those are names you'll want to remember in case you end up getting invited by a buddy in another company. Any questions?"
No one raised their hand this time.
"Good, you're learning. Now come on in. We'll get you settled."
She moved for the nearest door which slid apart at her approach. The rest of the group followed her in. Rico marveled at how well kept the place was. It was no hotel, but it sure beat the motel-feel of his last residence. A number of sofas spanned over a freshly cleaned marble floor that practically sparkled in the daylight. The arrangement of the chairs passed around a rotund registry desk before spacing out into a small meeting space at the far wall. There several holo-projectors were active with feeds from sports channels, news and movies. A few ODSTs were there as well. They were sitting intently around a screen showing a gravball match. Rico quickly recognized it to be the latest blood feud between the Reach Grizzlies and the New Carthage Badgers, black jerseys on one side and red ones on the other.
He already liked the place. Now he was just about to fall in love.
"This is nice." He said.
"We expect the best and we give the best." Joels said as he walked past.
"Really?"
"No." Harper said. "Don't do that to him, sergeant. Don't give him hope."
Joels smiled. "Why not, cap? Why can't we let'em dream a little?"
"I'd rather not."
Rico wasn't sure what she meant by that. Still, he got in line as they reached the registry desk. The rather unenthusiastic looking MP behind the counter did his job as quickly as he could, probably to get back to whatever nap he'd managed to sneak in before they came. With bags under his eyes, he processed each of them and added them to the list of the building's permanent residents.
Once they were done, the captain guided them towards the far side of the lobby. They were close to an elevator when the band of ODSTs watching the gravball game spotted her and stood at attention, their looks of frenzied competition vanishing behind placid masks.
"Good afternoon, captain." They said in unison.
"Afternoon Hotel. As you were."
The group folded back into their seats. However, their attention didn't return to the screen, instead resting on each of the newbies passing them by. Rico had a sneaking feeling they were about to take bets on how long each of them would last. He knew because he'd done the same thing in the Marines. He had usually been right too. Whatever their bets were, he wanted to think there was at least a chance they were in his favor.
The elevator doors hissed apart for them. The lift was big, so big that even after everyone stepped in, they still had a comfortable amount of elbow room. The ride up was full of mechanical commotions and yet somehow remained smooth until the very moment they pulled to a stop. The doors opened again and they were ushered out.
The first thing Rico noticed was the sound of a drill.
He wasn't sure where it was coming from. The space before him, beside him and all around him was submerged in a sea of cast iron bunk beds. There was some method to the madness, however. He used the small clearing around the elevator shaft to get his bearings and figured they were still in the middle of the building. A few paths cut through the beds to points he couldn't see, carving out whole sections of the floor. It looked like it was initially planned to be a space for two or more platoons, but due to the spacious design and perhaps even the size of the company, there was no need to cram. He counted that too as a blessing. At least he wouldn't feel like a sardine in a can as he did in the Marines.
But then there was the drilling. It was shrill and sharp and seemed to only come from one direction.
"Is he at it again?" Harper asked, arching a brow at Atell.
"Probably. I think he was waiting until there weren't as many people around. Less problems that way."
"Well, tell him to hurry up. I don't plan on having this place sounding like it's under construction all day."
"Will do."
"Alright, Helljumpers." Harper said officiously. "Welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives. It's of sufficient size for each of the squads to have plenty of space in the different wings."
The new arrivals looked among themselves with awe and rekindled amazement.
"No bed hopping though. Remember, it's a barracks, not a commune. We can't have this place looking like a mess just because it's only us up here. Everyone still has to do their part to keep things shipshape, am I clear?"
Rico stood at attention with the others. "Yes, captain."
Harper smiled. "Good, you're dismissed. Settle down for a bit. We'll talk more later."
The group dispersed. Captain Harper led her crew down one of the paths into the labyrinth of bed frames while Sergeant Joels took his larger trio onto another.
"This way." Atell said, taking the lead down the path in front of the elevator. "Time to meet the rest of the squad."
Rico went with him. Hector came close behind.
Along the way through what turned out to be less of a straight path and more of a winding road through the bunks, Rico noticed that the sound of the drill was going in and out, starting and stopping. It would whine for a bit then rattle and cease. Each time was longer or shorter than the one before so that he got the sense of someone using a drill rather than an automated machine. He also realized that it was getting closer. They were heading straight for it, if their zigzagging path could be called straight.
After about ten seconds he saw a wall up ahead and a small clearing in front of it. There were a few windows spaced out here and there. There was a bunk set directly in front of one with a chair placed by the lower bed. An ODST was sitting in it, leaning over something in his hand. Another ODST stood next to him, a woman with red hair tied into a neat bun. Hands folded across her chest; she leaned over him to peer down at whatever he was doing. Every so often the man flexed his arms and the drill sounds returned with a vengeance, a faint trail of white dust puffing up into the air.
If Rico didn't know any better, he would've thought he saw strings hanging from what he assumed to be the guy's bunk. He looked closer for clarity's sake and only ended up more confused. There were strings on his bed. They were hanging in wide arcs from the frame of the uppermost bunk and from the rungs of the two ladders that stood in between. The daylight was streaming in and he finally saw what had been stringed onto them.
Needless to say, hundreds of human and non-human sized teeth practically shining with a polished sheen was not something he expected to see today. But here they were, arranged one after the other like a macabre assortment of Christmas lights.
"Madre de Dios." He said under his breath, fighting the sudden urge to make the sign of the cross over himself.
He'd always thought the devil was real, but he never thought he'd have him as a roommate, or perhaps worse, a bunkmate.
He stopped right at the edge of the clearing. The sergeant and Hector continued on completely unphased.
What was wrong with them, he thought. Didn't they see the teeth?
The sergeant walked up to the pair and looked right at what the man was working on. "How's it going?"
"I swear, this is his 50th one for the day." The woman sighed.
"Don't worry, I'm almost done." The man assured in a calm voice. It was unnervingly so, as if he were meditating on whatever he was doing.
"What's this from now?" The sergeant asked.
The trooper Rico guessed was his squadmate raised his work into the air. In one hand was a pen-sized auto-drill, practically the size of a personal tattoo machine. In the other was a massive fang the size of the drill itself. The afternoon light shone around it and through a small hole carved into its center.
"I'm making it the first addition to my Gúta collection."
The redhead perked up. "No way, you actually managed to kill one of those things?"
"Hell no. A 14.5's barely enough to get their attention, yet alone hurt them. I got this off a corpse. Poor guy lost a dominance fight, probably for a mate. Sucks to be him. I just dug around in what the other guy left of his skull and pulled this little beauty loose."
"You're disgusting." The woman said.
"So, why are you watching?"
"To show you how disgusted I am. What, you didn't find enough Moa on your last safari and decided to settle for dead animals this time? Next thing I know you'll be hunting these things with a machinegun."
The man shook his head like it was an argument about something as mundane as watching grass grow. "I'd use a rocket or two, but I don't think 1-Actual's that open-minded."
"I'm hardly 'this' open minded." The woman said.
Hector faked a cough as he butted in. "New guy's here."
The redhead turned to him first. Rico saw then that she had green eyes that seemed keen, hemmed in on either side by short bangs. She looked Slavic, maybe even from Reach.
She scanned him up and down speculatively. "Marine?"
Rico's posture slackened as he glanced back up at his hair. "You know what, I think I'm just gonna cut this."
"Don't." She said, amusement sparking in her gaze. "I like it. Makes you look like a hairy caterpillar decided to call your head a home."
She walked over to him and held out a hand. "Szofia Novak, but you can call me Nova. Nice to meet you...ugh..."
"Rico." He said. "Corkeva."
"Rico Corkeva. Let me guess, you're our next Sol native?"
He thought about his home, his real home, but decided to avoid any possible guilt by association. "Me? No, I'm from Estuary."
"Ah, an inner colony guy. Knew I'd nail it somewhere. Well, I'm a Sol girl myself, born and raised. I handle engineering and other machinery problems we have around here. You?"
Hector leaned against the wall contentedly. "Rico here says his shtick is putting warheads on foreheads."
"So, a pilot?" Someone asked.
Rico watched another ODST step in from a different side of the clearing. Tiger stripes were cut into either side of his buzzed hair. He had a wild look about him and high cheekbones that suggested a similar background to Nova. He marched out towards Rico as if he were an intruder.
Upon his arrival, Hector's face soured with mild annoyance. "Oh jeez. No, Yuri, don't get too excited. I meant he's a demo guy. You know, explosives?"
The man named Yuri stopped right in front of Rico so that he could look him eye to eye even as he talked back. "You can drop explosives from aircraft. Isn't that right, new blood?"
Rico was picking up on an accent. It was thicker than the one he had heard from Nova and had more pronounced syllables, but it sounded similar.
Hector exhaled deeply. "That's like saying every Longsword pilot works EOD."
"Don't we?" Yuri replied, glancing back at him. "What do you think ASGMs are for?"
"Don't let him intimidate you, rookie. He's only been in for six months. He's almost as fresh as you."
"Pochemu by tebe ne zatknut'sya?" Yuri hissed.
Rico tried not to react to the fact that the man had spoken in a language he'd never heard before, and that as casually as if he were asking for a sandwich. Maybe he was as far as Rico knew.
"Bud' ostorozhen, Yuri." Nova replied in the same language, a statement he could only understand by its tone to be a warning. "We don't need you going back to medical because of another 'arm wrestling match', now do we?"
"Yeah, what she said." Hector echoed.
Yuri huffed dismissively. Turning to Rico, he gave him a surprisingly friendly slap on the arm. "Nice to meet you, Ricky. My name is Yuri Mastovich. Friends call me Matchstick. Enemies don't call me anything. They just scream. Since you're also pilot, I'll count you as friend, so you have permission to use first one."
"I just told you he's not a pilot." Hector insisted.
"He's right." Rico added reluctantly. "Best I can do in a cockpit is crash. I can handle an Antilon just fine though."
It dawned on Yuri then as if he were seeing Rico for the first time, and he was. "Ah, I understand. In that case then, you may scream."
Rico stammered out a line of nervous Spanish that earned a quirky look and a hearty laugh from Yuri.
"What was that, my friend? You got a little, as they say, 'lost in transformation'."
"Lost in translation." Hector corrected.
"I know what I said!"
"Ah-ah-ah." Nova raised a hand and slowly lowered it. "Inside voice."
Yuri exhaled explosively. He took one last long look at him then at the others. "Two months."
"Nah, I say a year." Hector replied.
Yuri walked off into the bunks. "No-no-no, like I said, he's not Air Force, remember? Air Force live longer."
"Remember? You're the one who's half deaf. And if Air Force do live longer then how come we've been here longer than you?"
But Yuri was already gone, blabbering something else in that same, strange tongue.
"Well..." Rico thought aloud. "That was..."
"Weird?" Nova nodded. "Yes, he is. But he's ex-Air Force. He's gotten us out of one or two tight spots already. The most you'll have to worry about with him is the volume."
"That and him trying to burn himself alive in his own pod every chance he gets." It was the one from earlier, the man with the drill. "I swear that guy loves getting tanned. But apart from that, he's reliable."
He went back to drilling.
"But apart from that, he's hardly the only freakshow we have in our little circus." Nova explained and gestured Rico towards the one he guessed to be the last member of Epsilon. "Care to introduce yourself?"
The man looked over his shoulder and Rico got to see how shaggy his hair was. It was dark and messy, almost the polar opposite of what he had come to expect of a unit like the ODSTs. His eyes were equally dark. However, when they landed on him, they narrowed with an innately predatorial glare. It wasn't like the big cat vibe he'd gotten from the captain. It was much more examining, calculating even, like an eagle observing prospective prey from hundreds of feet in the air, ready to come diving down at a moment's notice.
He briefly checked him out then returned to his 'work'. "Not really."
The drill whined again.
"What?" Nova barked.
"I know his name. That's good enough."
"That's your last one, Deaks." The Staff interrupted. "The captain needs her beauty sleep and I need my peace of mind. Wrap it up once you're done."
Deaks.
Perhaps for the mystery of it, Rico clung to the name in his mind more closely than with the others. 'The devil you know is better than the devil you don't', he thought. And what better way to get to know him than to have someone else handle the introductions?
The man called 'Deaks' let out a long sigh as he finally switched off the drill. "Thanks for giving away the secret, sir."
"Secret?" The sergeant ran a hand across a row of overhanging teeth so that they clinked and jingled together. "In case you haven't noticed, trooper, 'secrets' aren't really your thing."
Deaks set the drill aside. With another long exhale, he got up from his chair with both hands in his pockets. As he did, Rico glimpsed a row of containers under the bottom bunk and a sheathed blade lying on his bed, a wide faced butcher's knife or meat cleaver by the look of it.
He turned to Rico who instinctively reached out for a handshake. "Nice to meet you."
To his surprise, the man met him straight on and slapped his hand into his, shaking it. Immediately Rico felt several objects press into his palm.
"Corry Deaks." He said. "I'm Epsilon's sniper and occasional collector of sorts."
"'Occasional' isn't the word I'd use." The Staff said.
"Neither is 'collector'" Nova seconded.
"Think of him more like a self-employed mortician," Hector added. "That no one asked for."
"Don't listen to them." Deaks said and let go of his hand.
Rico found several fanged teeth resting in his palm. At first, he felt a flash of panic at the thought that they were human. However, he quickly realized they weren't.
"Don't worry." Deaks said, patting him on the shoulder. "They're not from people. None of them are. I only collect from aliens and animals and those right there are 30 credits worth of fully polished, premium Elite chompers. They go up for around 45 for everyone else but since you're new, I'll give you a discount."
Rico was incredulous. "What?"
Deaks bent closer so that he got between his tooth-filled palm and his face. "If you'd like, you can get the full set and make yourself some dentures. How about it, new guy?"
"...What?"
"You like teeth?"
"I...like having them."
"Good, and I like takin'em. Maybe we can do business."
Rico leaned back, nearly whispering. "You're not possessed, are you?"
"Possessed?" Deaks took a step back, hand to chest, as if hurt. Then he held his hands out wide in front of his merchandise. "No, amigo. I'm the Devil himself. So, why don't we make a deal? Thirty credits and the teeth are all yours."
Rico was dumbstruck. He'd seen plenty of trophy hunters in his time with the Corps, but this?
"Sometimes, I honest to God think you would've made a great salesman." Nova remarked.
The sergeant put a hand on Deaks' shoulder. "Enough of that. Pack it up. I don't want to look at this stuff anymore."
Deaks lowered his arms in defeat. "But, sir, the whole reason I had it out was for the new guys to-"
"Pack...it...up."
Deaks got the message that time. He slowly deflated, turning back to Rico one last time to mouth the words '30 credits' before rounding on his display and sliding the small containers out from under his bunk.
The sergeant stepped forward. "Well...that's everyone."
Rico wasn't sure how to feel about that. For one, he was at least relieved that he had seemingly sane squadmates like Hector and Nova to rely on. On the other hand, he didn't think he'd be catching any sleep at night if men like Yuri and Deaks were left prowling about the bunks. One of them had been very up in his face just a few seconds ago and he worried that the other one might slit his throat whenever he felt like it. Even then, he had hoped that there were other squadmates who were on the saner side of things.
"Got any questions before I show you to your spot?" The sergeant asked. "Don't worry, I'll actually answer."
"Yeah, could I get my bunk as far over there as possible?" He pointed back the way they came.
Another smirk creased Atell's face, not the first he had seen on him.
"Don't worry, those two don't bite." He said, again seeming to read his mind.
"Something tells me biting is the least of my worries."
"Well, they don't bite us." Atell gestured back the way they'd come. "Trust me, you'll get used to it."
"And...how long will that take?" Rico asked as his new squad leader got ahead of him.
The sergeant turned to him once again and gave him something else he wasn't expecting, an understanding smile.
"One day at a time. Now come on, follow me."
Whether he had intended it or not, it certainly did the trick. Rico reconsidered what he'd thought of him before. His first impressions seemed off. The sergeant appeared cold and disconnected, but he had a feeling that he was judging a book by its cover.
For a moment, just a fleeting moment, he imagined his uncle's face.
He shook his head clear.
If he was right, they weren't remotely the same person.
He wondered if maybe he could trust the sarge as well. He decided to take his chances, to hope for the best as he tailed him back into the maze of bunks.
:********:
'Do me, yourself and your hoar of a mother a favor and die.'
'One day at a time'.
'Do yourself a favor and die'.
'One day at a time'.
The two thoughts echoed around in his mind for almost a decade now. They had followed him through battles like Miridem and Actium. He was still waiting to see what they would do on Reach.
He refused to give in and die but the days were becoming harder to survive.
For the first time in what could have only been thirty seconds, he opened his eyes.
He was in a security room. It was a minor nerve center in a minor building in a city perpetually on fire.
The Marine Corps recruitment office took up the first three floors of the building. Above that was another 20 floors worth of administrational departments for the local reserve. The platoon had cleared it two days earlier. They didn't find anything or anyone holding up inside of it. Paper strewn hallways and abandoned offices spoke to another successful evacuation. With everything cleared, they left it alone with only one resident, and that resident was wondering when he would be able to call it a day.
Three days.
That was how long they had spent on the front.
The operation on the 20th to pull the rug out from under the Covenant had fallen flat, at least partly. They eradicated the landing zones and neutralized the energy shielding on each of the corvettes. What they hadn't done was actually blow them up. They were still up there, hovering over the western side of the city. They had that day's newest assault wave of fighters and dropships to thank for that.
The Covenant had thought far enough ahead to destroy or capture the majority of what remained of the city's anti-aircraft defenses. The few that weren't put to the sword were taken offline, self-preservation and tactical expedience gelling into a singular motivation for the crews that manned them. Rico couldn't imagine what it was like to be in their shoes. The second they opened fire again, if they ever did, they would immediately become priority one for every single air element the Covenant had in the city. Whether the enemy had actually discovered every AA site in the area as yet was still up for debate, but after the half-failed operation against the corvettes, the upper rungs of the UNSC defense forces weren't interested in tempting fate.
New Alexandria had been muzzled, but so had the Covenant. Without their bases of operations, the latter's ground assault had been stalled. What followed in its wake was a two-day long stalemate across the entire municipality. Both sides stuck to minor skirmishes and small, probing forays into the other's territory. They were testing to see what the other would do, or perhaps more likely, what the other could do.
The Covenant owned the air, but the UNSC owned the ground and either one was waiting for a chance to get ahold of the other's real estate.
It was otherwise calm in the streets of Alexandria.
Calm did not mean idle.
For what was now going on three days, the platoon had piled in with the larger diaspora of ODSTs left west of the two rivers. The 109th Infantry Division desperately needed more manpower to shore up their defenses at the front. Divisional officers and company commanders were asking for their help almost as soon as their tram reached the starport. With more things going belly up by the minute, the reprieve the platoon was hoping for was put off indefinitely. Before leaving the tarmac however, they got to see the lieutenant commander one more time.
Having a captured Phantom touching down among rows of UNSC dropships was a sobering sight for those soldiers protecting the perimeter. Far more sobering, however, was seeing the troopers of Captain Barrett's 5th Platoon hopping out the bay doors while Kat stayed behind. A squad of soldiers were swapped in for them, meant to act as her escort as she linked up with the rest of Noble.
"Guess we'll have to cut this one short, Epsilon." She said as an arriving soldier handed her a rocket launcher. She hauled it up to her shoulder with ease. "Good work on rescuing those civilians. If we play this right, maybe we won't need rescue ourselves before everything's said and done."
"I wouldn't say that, Spartan." The Staff replied. "It's bad luck, and that seems to be all we've got left in the tank these days."
"We're running on fumes here." Zack griped. "Aren't you?"
"Me, no." Kat said. "I run on auto-stims and pure spite, and I'm all out of stims."
"We'll spare you some if you ever swing back around this way." Renni kidded.
The Spartan nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
The strange drone of the Phantom's engines rose to a roar.
"Watch your heads out there, Helljumpers. We don't own the skies anymore so you're going to want to keep your boots on. Here's to hoping I'll get to kick down doors with you again before things settle down."
The Phantom slowly began to rise in front of them, forcing them to shout.
Hector waved on. "Good luck!"
"Give'em hell, Noble-2!" Nova said.
"Save some of the action for us!" Duncan yelled.
"No promises on that last one!" Kat called down before the doors to the troop bay slid shut.
They watched the Phantom ascend a short distance then turn and fly off towards the distant visage of Olympic Tower. In seconds, they were back to business.
Rico figured that's how it always was with Spartans. They would be fighting alongside them one second only to find them fighting on some other planet the next. They weren't really the type to just kick back and hang around. Luckily that was where ODSTs came in handy.
Perimeter build-ups and long-range reconnaissance patrols became the new name of the game.
The platoon, alongside any Helljumpers that could be spared, worked with the 109th to fortify and expand their positions beyond the foothills west of the starport. Within the west side of the city, three self-containing defensive lines were established. Each was a semicircular arrangement of preexisting strongholds. Buildings and intersections secured by the division's push just days earlier were now the fulcrums upon which the various sectors would hinge. Their positions near key access points, streets and highways were paramount to the overall integrity of the lineup. Any Covenant forces looking to advance would crash headlong into balcony-mounted turrets, rooftop rocket teams and shop windows turned firing lanes. Narrow alleyways, open-air venues and empty expressways alike were transformed into preplanned killzones where enemy forces could be funneled and whittled down. They would essentially be using the city's own layout as a weapon. That in and of itself was something that urban planners had been forced to consider once the Covenant finally reached the inner colonies. Now that premeditated sleight of hand no one hoped they would ever have to use was coming into play on a metropolitan scale.
The three-layered buffer zone stretched for more than half a kilometer from the western promenade to the farthest flung position. The local Marine Reserve Administrational Building that he had all to himself held onto a pointed position in the first layer. But there were positions even further out than that. He wasn't sure precisely where they were as they were mainly comprised of forward observer elements of Army scouts and ODSTs. A few small fireteams and two-man binaries were sprinkled about the areas ahead of the first line. Meant to provide advanced warning of any incoming threats, they were to give those behind them either the red light or the green. Large enemy movements or small trickles of civilians were called in every so often. The reason why was because of the little surprises that had been left for the first.
Rico's priority, the reason he was in a building meant for hundreds of people all on his lonesome, was to keep an eye on the large minefield that lay ahead of the first defensive line. A thick layer of Asteroidea and Antilon anti-personnel mines were laid out in a 50-meter spread, a buffet of destruction for Covenant infantry. A fine dose of Type 14 Magnetic/Anti-Tank Mines were thrown in for good measure in case of a major armored push. Rico was one of over two dozen shepherds to this explosive flock. Nothing would get through the pre-planned boobytraps hidden within the debris of the streets unless he or the others allowed it.
He himself was responsible for a sector that comprised an area the size of a neighborhood. His building just so happened to overlook the M7 Highway which passed straight by its front doors on its way back east towards the starport. From the west, four main roads connected to this six-laned artery of the city like antlers on the head of a deer, springing out from the left and right of the M7.
He kept an eye on the situation with his cameras. He would deactivate certain sections of the mines remotely in case civilians stumbled across them then reactivate them once they had passed.
One of the tech heads of the 109th's 3rd Battalion had graciously donated a portable computer to him. While he was posted up in the security room, he had settled down in the middle of an octagonal table that used to belong to a 'Warrant Officer Mckinley'. He snuck a glimpse from the rectangular screen of his computer to the name plaque on the top of the desk and wondered what had become of the officer in question. It was a brief thought as his attention zipped back to the scores of security camera feeds that sectioned off his display. Each showed a different angle of the surrounding area just outside. Each had been linked from the inactive holo-screen suite connected to the office which buzzed over the tabletop with a blinking 'disconnect' message. Everything was routed to the computer and from what he could see, his area of operation was relatively quiet.
He scanned the length of the highway that lay within visual range, checking multiple views in the process. They were all different angles of the same thing. Vehicles were scattered about in the same random fashion that their drivers had left them mere days ago. Despite a few vehicular clusters, the M7 and its sixfold lanes were clear. There was trash, however, plenty of it. Trash bags, boxes and bottles abounded like a marsh of plastic and cardboard that scummed the asphalt as well as the sidewalks. That was part of his own personal touch.
He showed the Army engineers how to use the nearby refuse to their advantage. They emptied public disposal bins and yanked out jackets and backpacks from dead cars. They tossed as much as they could onto the highway and into the streets. It was perfect. Even if he zoomed in closer on his cameras, he still couldn't make out the 50-meter stretch of mines that dotted the highway, hidden behind tires and beneath debris. He was assured of the same for the four streets that connected to it. None of them showed any hint of the danger that lay within. It was a boon to be sure but also a double-edged sword.
A number of small Covenant assaults had come and gone, crashing and breaking against the unpredictable fury of the mines. However, there had been just as many reports of incidents where normal people trying to escape to safety had stumbled into them. There were a few occasions where the personnel in charge of those mines couldn't deactivate them in time. The results were messy in more ways than one.
Rico wasn't about to let that happen here. He might have shut his eyes for a few seconds, but he wasn't going to fall asleep. He simply had too much time on his hands. Not having the others around gave him more and more hours of silence that he hadn't asked for. Sitting around and doing next to nothing was slowly getting to him.
After inspecting his screens again and finding nothing, he settled back into his cross-legged position and began doing what he hated to do whenever he was by himself: remember.
His mind didn't wander back to Estuary. Instead, it took a much shorter trip to the starport earlier in the week.
He remembered how he had to pull that kid off of Duncan during their little scrap. He thought about how the boy managed to break free of his grasp, him, a fully armed and armored ODST, if only to take another swing at Duncan.
Arthur, that was his name. However, if he were honest, he wouldn't have been surprised if the kid's last name ended up being Corkeva. He saw more of himself behind those crazed eyes than he cared to admit. He could practically feel the years of hatred and bitterness oozing off of him with every word and every punch. He didn't know the finer details of what bad blood there was between him and Duncan. Nevertheless, it had to be bad enough for one to find the other years later and still have the wherewithal to fight a shock trooper.
He felt sorry for him in a way. That didn't take away from the fact that he had tried to get at his friend. He had his sympathy, not his pity.
When he had the chance to put a bullet in his uncle's brain, he chose not to. Having ten times as many guns aiming back at him was something that only caught up to him years later. At that moment, his only thought was to forget the man and try to make a life for himself.
And still he couldn't quite escape the sense that he was a hypocrite. Who was he to judge the boy when he knew next to nothing about him? Who was he to slam the gavel on his case when he was the one to sabotage his uncle's mines and rob him blind? The one thing he didn't do was kill him and even then, he came within a hair's breadth of pulling the trigger.
Who was he to say a word, and who was his uncle that he should want to apologize to a man that never wanted him there anyway?
And still he could remember what he felt that day.
Even with the gun to Mateo's head, eye to eye, the thought had been there, the idea that he could still fix it, that he could fix him, that he could finally say there was somewhere in the galaxy he could call home.
Maybe that was all it would've taken, just an honest 'I'm sorry.'
'Do yourself a favor and die'.
'I'm sorry'.
'Die'.
Rico took a deep breath and forgot to let it out.
He knew better than to think about those kinds of things. It never did him any good. But he had heard that kid Arthur shout something similar when he saw Duncan, and he couldn't help noticing how familiar it was.
Estuary was gone.
The Covenant had glassed it back in 2549.
He saw the mines of Isla de Cortegada in his mind, the Innie infested bars of the upper Grenadenes, that beach at New Majorca. He wondered what they looked like now.
He wondered about Morientes, about that taxi driver he gave an extra tip to, about Hugo.
He wondered about Mateo.
It was the first time in years that he really found himself thinking about it for longer than the few seconds it usually took to find a distraction. He thought about what might've happened to his uncle, whether he'd chosen to go down with the planet and his precious mine, or whether he had escaped, maybe to go off to work as a farmhand for some distant relative that neither wanted nor needed him.
He was certain of one thing, however, and it was that he would never find out.
He tried to feel satisfaction at either possibility and couldn't.
He tried to feel sad at either option but couldn't.
The two emotions were too firmly wrapped up in one another for either one to win out. What remained in the end was a simmering sensation that went both ways, hatred for the man he knew and regret for the man he never got the chance to.
But maybe these two would be different, Duncan and Arthur.
Maybe they could still reconcile.
Their chances weren't great but at least they weren't gone like his was. He couldn't think of any guarantees either except for two. Both of them were still alive and both knew that the other was still alive. The odds of them actually pulling it off were slim in the grander scheme of the galaxy, but then again, if the last few years had taught him anything, it was that even the galaxy was a smaller place than he first thought.
"Castle-1 to Ep-6, be advised, multiple civilians sighted approaching your AO. I repeat, multiple civilians sighted approaching your AO, over?"
The voice in his helmet knocked him clear of one minefield and into another. He was hunched back over his computer again, eyes zigzagging to every feed and angle.
"Ep-6 to Castle-1, roger that. I need numbers and locations."
"Spotted about 40-, no, make that 60-, Jesus, they're still coming. Ep-6, keep an eye on-"
A blast of static almost blew out Rico's ears. He squelched the connection before it could deafen him. Dazed and alarmed, he set about checking and rechecking his screens with desperation. There was no time to wonder what was going on with the nearest scout team. If there were civilians on the way and in the numbers their team leader was suggesting, he needed to figure out where they were coming from and fast. A delay of even a few seconds could prove disastrous.
He spent half a minute searching the streets around the M7 for signs of movement or activity. None appeared save for the occasional trash bag floating in the breeze. There was nothing. He checked again and again. Still nothing.
He tried to re-establish a connection with Castle-1 and was met with another brief shriek of static.
A second contact reached his comms, this time even hastier than the first. "Iceberg-4 to Ep-6, you still there? Respond, over."
Rico recognized the voice as belonging to the 109th demolition controller in the sector just north of his own. "Right here, Iceberg. What's the situation on your end?"
"Okay, good. Hey, listen, two of my scout teams just went dark on me. Aztec says the same thing happened over on his side. We don't know what's going on."
Rico scowled. Now he was sure that something was up.
"Just had the exact same thing happen with Castle. Listen, I'll try to raise-"
Movement suddenly filled half of his screens. Again, he was snapping from feed to feed.
The situation was developing faster than he could have ever expected. In a blink, dozens of civilians appeared within view of different cameras. Men, women, young and old were bolting, rushing towards the streets that led down to the M7. He didn't have time to count, only to see them coming in droves and know that they were running to their doom.
"Woah-woah-woah, I'm looking at multiple civvies enroute to my location." He reported as his fingers went to work typing deactivation sequences into clusters of explosives, jumping from one to the next. The highly compartmentalized minefield made it so that he could lower portions of the defense without having to bring down the entire network. All it did here was tie his hands as he worked painstakingly through each batch of ordnance.
He watched the edge of the oncoming throngs barrel to within the first few meters of the furthest mines.
But then he saw what was coming behind them.
Brutes.
Grunts.
Jackals.
Scores of the Covenant troops were coming up after the civilians in even greater numbers. They were platoon-sized elements. He counted at least four of them staying at some distance behind the stampeding herd of humanity. They weren't too close, but they weren't too far either, well out of range of the blast radius of the mines but well within range to capitalize on the gaps they would create.
"Christ, I've got civvies coming here too, and-...God, looks like Covies are right on their heels!" Iceberg-4 shouted. "Ep-6!?"
Rico already knew what he was going to ask, and the answer was yes.
The Covenant were trying to break through the minefield. He could see that much with his own eyes. But what he wished he could shut them against was the decision he was about to make.
Memento - Remember
