Chapter 3 - Lapides onychinos
October 5th, 2544 (11:10 Hours – Military Calendar)
Zeta Doradus System, Onyx
Aboard UNSC Falkirk
:********:
Their descent through the atmosphere was easily the calmest Duncan had ever experienced, mostly because on every other occasion he was running a reentry vector in an HEV pod while breaking the sound barrier. Today he enjoyed riding out the descent within the Falkirk's cafeteria. The room was relatively empty except for squad Epsilon. They'd decided to all stay at their table with their duffel bags shortly after breakfast to discuss a few things.
"I'm still thinking it's not too late." Zack said. "We can still hijack this tub if you guys want. We can turn around and-"
"If you're betting on me getting us all out of here then you have 'nother thing coming, antennae-boy." Yuri huffed. "This isn't Longsword or Pelican, much more complex." He rasped his knuckles against the table for emphasis.
Hector breathed out. "Honestly, we're better off where we're at. I mean, clubbing an ONI officer was fun the first time around, and it saved a lot of lives too, which was a cool bonus, but I'd rather not like to think about what they'd do to us if we tried it a second time."
"Especially given what we know now." Duncan added. "Didn't the Commander say something about ditching habeas corpus?"
"A nice way of saying we're already dead men walking." Nova sighed.
"Dead woman in your case." Deaks corrected. "Or have you been passing yourself off as something you're not?"
She shot the corporal a sharp look and he shrugged it off. "Don't look at me, I'm just no fan of false advertising."
Rico sized him up. "I think you're just trying to get Nova all pissy because you're looking for an outlet. My guess is you're antsy about not being able to take Covie teeth for seven months straight."
"No sir, not true. I'll have plenty of teeth to take from these Spartans."
"…They're not Covies."
Deaks leaned over. "Didn't you see that armor, the SPI or whatever. They're getting active camo. It's nice and all, but the last time I saw it in use was a little under three months ago, back when a Split-jaw tried splitting my own jaw. So, forgive me if these Spartan guys seem a little bit more alien to me than they would otherwise."
"What about that Lieutenant Commander? That Senior Chief Petty Officer? The AI?" Duncan asked. "They look normal."
"They're probably freaks too."
"How do you figure?"
Before Deaks could answer, the Staff spoke up, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed in thought. "I'd rather we didn't discuss our new CO's before we actually met them. The Commander gave us a glimpse of what to expect but it's not enough to draw any concrete conclusions. If we categorize them as freaks then there's a high chance we'll go out of our way to avoid them, as well as these Spartan IIIs. We can't afford to allow any preconceived notions or prejudices to cloud our judgements and hinder our performance or we might very well end up being sent somewhere else to do something a whole lot worse. While we're here, we keep an open mind and an open hand whenever we're called to serve, just like back at Falchion. There's no room for anything else here, not with ONI." He opened his eyes to look them each in theirs. "Is that understood, troopers?"
There was a collective "Yessir" from everyone at the table, although Deaks' was delayed.
"What was that Corporal?"
"…Yes, sir. Will do sir."
Duncan thought about that, 'back at Falchion'. He hoped it would be just like their battalion HQ, their home. The test for that hope came sooner than he'd expected as the entry door slid open a few meters away. Two of the Falkirk's personnel dressed in navy jumpsuits stood at the threshold.
"Squad Epsilon?" One of them called out.
"Who's asking?" Hector asked back.
"The Commander wants you at the armor storage chamber to assist with offloading the sets. We land in 5 minutes."
The Staff nodded to the troopers and they got up after him. The ODSTs followed the two Falkirk personnel back through the entrance. Duncan took one last look at the cafeteria, remembered the food he'd eaten here over the course of the last week, and knew he'd sorely miss the place.
:********:
Duncan used the handles on the side of the armor capsule to keep it steady as he felt the Falkirk's touchdown. He pressed the handles' release trigger once he was sure they'd landed. There was a solid thump beneath the capsule, indicating it's release from the holding socket.
"Heck?"
"I got it." Hector said from the capsule's other side as he got a firm hold on the handles to balance it between them.
There came a hiss from all around. Seams snaked along the chamber. There was a slight screech of hydraulics as the entire floor detached from the walls and lowered.
Sunlight streamed through the growing cracks, causing Duncan to squint against the late-morning rays. The first thing to greet him was the intense summer heat, then the smell. There was an earthy aroma in the air.
In ten seconds, the drone of hydraulics dissipated upon their touchdown.
Duncan's eyes adjusted, allowing him to see his surroundings.
Onyx was a world of tropical jungle, or maybe they had come to a tropical region. That much was obvious from the distant tree line of colossal banyan trees, royal poincianas in full red bloom and tropical conifers.
The heat made the far-off horizon waver with the watery mirage produced by the sun. Beyond the trees, he could see the tops of a few of the buildings that made up Camp Curahee.
They had landed on one of the smaller parade grounds two kilometers away from camp. The space was framed by double-layered, barbed wire fencing and dirt trails that walked along the sides.
Commander Tarkovsky stepped off the descending platform first. Duncan and Hector followed, hefting the full weight of the capsule between them alongside the others carrying theirs. It was a fight to keep the heavy storage units vertical so that they didn't slip and hit the ground. The equipment looked more robust than the standard Helljumper BDU but no one was ready to take any chances.
They passed the Falkirk's landing struts and emerged from the ship's shadow. Duncan immediately felt the heat more clearly as it washed over him completely. It was a midsummer kind of heat. He couldn't imagine working in these conditions for longer than a few minutes before feinting.
A few meters in front of the Prowler was a 300 square meter gravel-square set apart from the enveloping grass. At the center was a flagpole with the UNSC banner floating freely in the hot wind.
Tarkovsky led them over to it and let them rest their capsules down near the flagpole. Standing still Duncan found, was even worse. The humid air settled on him like a thick blanket that threatened to suffocate him where he stood. He noticed the others breathing a little harder as well. The combination of heat, humidity and carrying the capsules with their duffels had taken its toll. They'd only walked ten meters from the ramp.
Tarkovsky struck a hard contrast to them in the way that he stood unphased. He squinted at the large dirt road that extended from the mirage-laced horizon, across the parade grounds to the area of gravel. There was no sign of movement except the refracting light that occasionally made the surrounding forest disappear then reappear.
The Commander touched his earpiece. "Tarkovsky to Curahee C&C, I've arrived at Parade-Ground Sentinel with the delivery and additional personnel. Is my pick-up here yet?"
The reply came loud enough for everyone else to hear.
"Curahee C&C to Commander Tarkovsky, we hear you." A man's voice said with the casualness of an old friend. "Mendez is on his way. I'll patch you through."
Another voice came on, this one raspy and audibly older.
"This is Mendez to Commander Tarkovsky, we're on our way. Keep your eyes on the horizon."
"Understood, ready and waiting."
Everyone's attention went towards the horizon of the dirt road. A full ten seconds passed before they heard the distant roar of burbling engines. They slowly made out the shape of four large 18-wheelers baring down the road led by an equal number of Troop Carrier Warthogs.
The heavy-duty transport trucks stopped around the gravel yard while the troop carriers stopped closer. Over a dozen Camp Curahee personnel dressed in camo-fatigues disembarked, several of them opening up the doors of the storage units on the flatbeds.
One of them strode straight towards Tarkovsky. Duncan recognized the older man right away. He was practically the same as his picture, the only exception being that he was wearing regular fatigues and not his officer's uniform. He was the man who was second in command of the Spartan III training program, Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez.
Mendez' stony eyes shifted between the ODSTs as he walked over, likely making quick examinations of each. He finally focused on Tarkovsky who held out his hand with a smile. The SCPO received the gesture with a less than welcoming mug at first that slowly warmed, not into a smile, but a look of respect.
"Want to tell me why you're two days late, sir?" He asked drily.
"Got sidetracked." The Commander nodded at the ODSTs who stood at unanimous attention in the presence of another officer.
Mendez took another second to scrutinize the troopers who were breaking out into a sweat in their ODST T-shirts and camo-pants, even while he seemed perfectly air-cooled. He must have figured out who the leader was by looks alone as he gave the Staff a nod which he returned in gest.
"So is Watershed still using you as their delivery boy after this?" Mendez asked.
Tarkovsky shrugged, fixing his hands in his pockets. "The Division's got me running rough-shot across Orion. Believe it or not this is my first time in six months having my feet on good old Terra Firma. Things have just been getting that bad. After we lost another part of the Nexus Beltway, it's gotten pretty tight in terms of who gets what and when."
"Miridem." Mendez said, considering the name. "We definitely don't need another one of those anytime soon."
"Which is why we'll need Beta at the ready as soon as possible."
"They're almost ready, and if these troopers are as solid as you say, we might very well get our Spartans out there even faster."
"Oh, they're the real deal, trust me." The Commander said, walking back beside the Staff to place a hand on his shoulder. "This is Staff Sergeant Atell, leader of Squad Epsilon. I'd recommend you keep an eye on him. He's got enough balls to knockout a superior."
Mendez stared down the Staff. "Think you got a big enough pair to try that with me, son?"
The Staff didn't waver under his sharp gaze, instead meeting him head-on. "Only if I had to, sir."
Instead of the outrage that the others were expecting, the faint traces of a smile flickered on the ends of Mendez' lips. "I like them already."
Tarkovsky introduced the other ODSTs in accordance with their callsigns. Once he was done the real job got underway.
"I've brought a few DI's here." Mendez said. He pointed to two of the nearest trucks. "We'll load up the SPIs on these ones first. Then we'll use the other two."
"No problem." Tarkovsky turned to the ODSTs. "Ditch your duffels on the Hogs and get on it."
The troopers sprang to their orders. They jogged to the two nearest Hogs and tossed their duffels into the troop sections before returning to the platform. The Curahee drill instructors joined them in hoisting the armor capsules between each other. They ferried them over to the open doors of the storage units while Mendez and Tarkovsky talked more on the side.
They got the first half of the sets loaded up by half an hour. Another fifteen minutes and they were filling up the third flatbed with half of the remaining capsules. By then, Epsilon was struggling to keep up due to the heat. With another fifteen minutes they got the job done. Duncan helped push the last capsule into the stacked container. He breathed a sigh of relief as a pair of DIs closed the doors.
The moment they were bolted shut; the Senior Chief Petty Officer shook hands with Tarkovsky. "Safe travels, Commander."
"I'll try, although that's honestly not my style of captaining."
"Another reason I'm glad I'm not on your ship."
"I bet your Spartans are sad they're not. At least I can escape this place. They can't."
"They want to escape all right, only so they can kill Covenant. They make that more and more clear to me every day."
"I hope the ODSTs can keep up with them." Tarkovsky said, gesturing towards the troopers.
"I can tell that they're the survivor type. They'll adapt."
"Or not." Tarkovsky said, shrugging his shoulders. "Catch you later, Chief."
"Likewise."
Tarkovsky turned and started for the Falkirk. He briefly eyed the ODSTs who stood winded a few meters away and waved at them. "Good luck Epsilon, stay alive long enough and I might just see you in seven months."
They watched him step onto the platform and disappear as it retracted into the ship, sealing shut.
Mendez turned to address everyone. "DI's load up. Troopers, you're on the first two Hogs over here. We'll rendezvous with the Lieutenant Commander back at Curahee auditorium in 20. Move out."
The troopers followed Mendez to the Hogs and jumped into the troop carrier sections. The SCPO revved his Warthog's engines and pushed them down the dirt road, the troop carriers leading while the other four flatbeds took up the rear. Behind them, the prowler's engines came to life.
The ODSTs looked on as their ride to Onyx ascended into the air, turned about and proceeded to slip noiselessly back through the atmosphere, bound for open space.
:********:
The road to the camp was fairly short. In less than a few minutes they were crossing over another parade ground. Only this time there were far more people around.
Duncan saw dozens of men and women dressed in T-shirts, fatigues and boots who ran, crouched beneath and leaped through various obstacle courses. They were too far off for him to make out their faces. However, he could notice their strapping forms. They had the builds and fluid movements of Olympian athletes. One group of a dozen were jogging along the perimeter. Their speeds nearly matched those of the Spartans he'd seen on Miridem, covering distances that the average Marine or ODST would take far longer to.
The convoy came in from the west, passing white quartz paths that hemmed in the long parade grounds. Some of the Spartan IIIs walking along the paths watched them pass by. Deaks who was sitting next to Duncan glared back at them. Being the squad's designated marksman, he had a natural eye for the finer details of any scenery that others wouldn't notice right away. Duncan watched him out the corner of his eye, wondering exactly why he looked troubled, even confused. Whatever the reason was he kept it to himself.
The Staff who was riding shotgun asked. "What're the training hours around here, sir?"
"We primarily conduct physical evolutions from 0400 hours to 0900, then 1020 to 1200 Hours after breakfast." Mendez said, fixing his rearview mirror with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the wheel. "Since we're more on the tropical side here at Curahee, we conduct our drill sessions early on to avoid the heat. They commit to their studies until around 1630 when the sun's a bit more bearable. We continue on to 2030 Hours then call it a day."
He glanced at The Staff and the rest of the troopers through the rearview mirror. "Don't worry, you folks will get used to life out here quick."
Zack spoke up. "With all due respect sir, we're only used to dealing with temperatures like these for about three to four minutes tops, and that's when we're on a drop."
"In that case you shouldn't have come here." Mendez said with a straightness that lacked any polite pretenses. "There's an old saying, if you can't take the heat…"
"Stay out of the kitchen." The Staff said contemplatively, finishing the old idiom.
"Exactly. As much as I'd like to think you and your troopers did a good job back on Miridem, there's no escaping the fact that you're paying for it now. You're not prisoners but you're not guests here either. Consider this a new line of employment that you can never add to your official resume."
"Any expectations for how we'll perform out here, sir?"
Mendez leaned back in his seat as they rounded a bend in the road. "Put out or you'll get put out. If you want the specifics, you'll just have to wait until we get to the auditorium. The LC will explain everything there."
"That would be Lieutenant Commander Ambrose?"
"Correct."
The Staff nodded, letting the rest of the trip pass them by in silence.
They passed the parade grounds and came across the rest of Camp Curahee. Like it had appeared in the presentation, the camp was a 400-meter, U-shaped arrangement of various buildings and individual complexes.
Duncan made out dormitories and armories. There was an Infirmary, mess halls, firing ranges and office buildings. White quartz paths honeycombed the interior while the exterior of the camp was clear of jungle for 300 meters. There was a perfectly geometric inspection yard at the heart of Curahee, and in front of that, the auditorium. It was 30 meters in width and nearly twice that in length with four stories.
The convoy pulled up in front of the inspection yard and they leaped out from their vehicles.
"Staff Sergeant, take your ODSTs inside." Mendez said and pointed to the doors. "You'll get directions from there."
"Yes sir." The Staff gestured to the squad. They grabbed their duffels and made for the revolving doors. Stepping inside, they were greeted by a refreshing chill of air conditioning that embraced them. The front lounge was cool, occupied by a flurry of cascading snowflakes that shifted and coalesced at the holotank near the center of the room. The figure standing atop it observed them with glowing-white and aged eyes whose depths held an elderly wisdom.
The AI leaned on a cane while he spoke. "Squad Epsilon?"
"That'd be us." The Staff affirmed. "Your Senior Chief Petty Officer sent us here for directions."
The AI nodded yet continued scrutinizing them. "I am the AI in charge of running the various facilities here at Camp Curahee. Although, I believe you already know my name."
"Deep Winter, right?" Duncan asked.
He smiled at him. "Indeed. Now with self-introductions out of the way, lets get you all moving."
A door slid open, leading to a staircase. "Lieutenant Commander Ambrose and I are waiting for you on the third floor, debriefing room '7'. Take the first two flights of stairs then head down the hallway. It will be on your left."
Epsilon followed the AI's direction up the stairs and along the corresponding hallway before stopping at the door. It slid open automatically to reveal a semicircular room. There were exactly eight chairs set around the single U-shaped table within.
Leaning against the blank board on the nearby wall was…Duncan couldn't tell what he was exactly, because he was taller than the average man, taller even than a Spartan or an Elite. Somehow, he was equally proportioned, standing at an imposing two and a half meters. His arms were folded across his officer fatigues and his left leg casually crossed over his right. His brown hair was shorn low, his cleft chin bobbing a little as he breathed. His eyes suddenly opened and the hazel pupils settled directly on the squad.
The Staff spotted the bars of a Lieutenant Commander on his shoulders and quickly stood at attention. The others mirrored his example.
The giant of a man smiled and turned to them with hands on his hips. "I'm guessing you'd be Squad Epsilon." The LC covered the distance between them in two far-reaching strides, covering the Staff in his shadow. He extended a hand. "Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose. Nice to finally meet you."
He seemed genuinely welcoming, even despite the several scars on his face and outstretched arm. The Staff took the larger hand and shook it. "Good meeting you as well, sir. We're ready to get work. Just tell us what you need."
Ambrose nodded with an appreciative grin. He looked the others over and pointed his thumb at the seats.
At his behest, they spread out and sat in the chairs.
Duncan saddled his duffel over his lap and watched the LC closely. He was obviously a Spartan judging by his physique. Duncan mentally compared him to the image of the Spartan IIIs outside and couldn't match it. Ambrose was simply too tall, but it made more sense when he compared him against the Master Chief and the Spartans from Miridem. He was slightly taller than them as well. It was still the closest match. Perhaps there really was some truth to Hector's question about different types of Spartans. Now he wondered which fit Ambrose best, being a possible 1 or 2.
The LC returned to leaning against the wall, eyeing each trooper in turn. "Private Iris, Private Second-Class Matthews, Corkeva, Mastovich, Paulson, Corporal Deaks, Specialist Novak and Staff Sergeant Atell…welcome to Camp Curahee. As you know, you're here to assist our program in lending your LRSOIP expertise. However, the ship we plan on using for that practice will not be available for another week. In the meantime, my goal is to mold you all into DIs capable of dealing with our Beta Company candidates."
He clasped his hands together. "This is rather short notice but we hadn't initially planned on additional LRSOIP training, at least not until last month when I was informed by my superior of the availability of the technology as well as a potential, future need for its use by the Spartans. We'd first hoped to incorporate some specialists from the experimental teams that did the original tests to teach the Spartans. That changed when we were informed by Commander Tarkovsky of your…availability." He said the last part with a hint of sympathy. "I agreed to have both the experimental teams and you ODSTs brought in. This way the Spartans will receive a mix of exposure from both trial experience as well as the real-time experience from you all. Before we do that there's something that we need from you."
A holographic image appeared next to the LC. It was a to-scale display of the SPI armor. "Your custom ODST BDU simply won't cut it for the types of exercises you'll be exposed to here. You'll need to learn how to use the SPI armor. You will begin training with it starting in 1800 Hours. Consider it part of your DI preparational training. I'll be busy with the Spartans so Mendez will be the one overseeing your lesson."
Holographic snowflakes appeared and spiraled into the form of Deep Winter, his cape flowing in the simulated breeze. "And I will help you familiarize yourselves with the various armor components and functionalities using available armor sets."
Duncan snuck occasional glances at the others to see if they were just as stunned as he was. To their credit they were better at disguising any reservations they had about the announcement than he was. For him, it was still a lot to swallow. He hadn't thought that anything remotely similar to SPI armor existed a little over three days ago. Today he was about to wear one. Things seemed to keep jumping from one level to the next, catching him off guard whenever he thought he'd already seen the impossible.
"The training session will be brief." Ambrose said, taking over. "We want you to get a feel for the suits over the course of this week. You'll be undergoing armor integration at the same time as the Spartan IIIs. Your training will take place near El Morro Point."
Zack raised a hand. "Random question, what're these Beta guys like sir?"
Ambrose seemed to beam with pride and satisfaction at the question. "Glad you asked. They're some of the most determined UNSC personnel you will ever meet. Their capacities are well above the average soldier, some even more so. There are undoubtedly a few personalities that I know will stick out to you in the weeks to come. That said, they still need a guiding hand to sharpen their rough edges before graduation. Their strength, their speed and wits are easily their greatest assets…and your greatest challenge in training them. Which is why you'll need to get used to the SPI."
Deaks raised his hand. "How old are they on average?"
There was a palpable hesitation from the Lieutenant Commander. He clenched his jaw, looking at the ground like he was considering his next words carefully. "They're…not your traditional special forces."
Duncan noticed that it wasn't a direct answer.
"How so?" Deaks asked.
Ambrose fixed him with a look bordering on curiosity, more so of the corporal than of the question. "You'll see." He looked to the others. "Any other questions?"
The ODSTs looked amongst each other then back at the AI and LC, though not with any questions, only a uniformly determined stare that matched theirs. Yet Deaks' gaze held trace levels of suspicion.
"I guess not." Ambrose said. Then Zack raised a hand. "Go ahead."
"Um, so where's this El Morro Point place?"
:********:
It was night and Duncan found himself trying to catch his breath with his back against a tree while flashlights beamed through the surrounding canopy, searching for him.
He crouched, a remarkably fast feat for his newly issued SPI armor. It was by far more maneuverable than the standard ODST BDU and admittedly lighter. The amenities were good as well. It had a TACMAP feature which he quickly utilized.
El Morro Point was an area several kilometers from Camp Curahee. Two rivers, one running South and another Southwest converged a short distance away from the handful of facilities comprising the point. His personal contact showed him 300 meters south of El Morro. There was still a trek ahead, and he would have to do it while avoiding the patrols.
Two hours ago, Lieutenant Commander Ambrose had briefed them all on what the training session would entail. The ODSTs would spend some time learning about the new armor's various functionalities, and given how similar it was to their own BDU, it took them less than an hour to get used to the systems, most of that time spent learning how to use the camouflaging systems. Then came the actual test. The purpose was to gauge their versatility with the armor in an applied environment. They were dropped off at a location in the middle of the jungle, less than a kilometer south of the Point. Their goal was to reach El Morro while avoiding detection by DI patrols and the observation towers posted around the area. They were to work separately so that their individual skillsets could be examined. Any attempts at coordinating via TEAMCOM would immediately disqualify them, meaning they would have to go through the whole ordeal quiet and alone.
They wished each other luck then went their separate ways.
Duncan had worked his way over half a kilometer when, a few minutes ago, he'd decided to give his active camouflage a break since it had been running for so long. He didn't want to risk it overheating so he deactivated it to use later.
That was his first mistake.
He was making his way along the far-side of a more open section of jungle. Midway to the other side he realized his second mistake as a large floodlight suddenly turned on from a perch on a nearby banyan tree, one he'd failed to check.
It was centered right on him, easily separating him from the darkness. Gunfire started up a second later. He ducked back into the underbrush, weaving around trees as TTR rounds splattered against them. He heard a handful of DIs coming after him and felt a round hit the back of his left leg. The stunning anesthetic quickly started taking affect. Still he managed to get some distance between himself and his pursuers.
He'd slid behind a tree and stayed quiet, reactivating his camouflage in the hope that they would pass by. Thankfully, they did after they couldn't figure out which way he went.
Duncan breathed with relief once the flashlights became more distant.
He spent the next five minutes fighting to stay conscious. The anesthesia effects were strong yet familiar, reminding him of old firefight sessions he'd done with the rest of Class 207 back at Camp Ravenport. He briefly wondered how many of his fellow classmates were still alive, how many of them were still fighting. He thought about Stanton and Cosmo, then O'Reilly, wondering if his last squadmate was still around. It suddenly struck him just how long it had been since he'd last seen his friend or even spoken to him. He forced himself out of his thoughts, remembering he wasn't in the clear yet, not until he reached El Morro. He tried scratching off the angry red polymer on the back of his leg. It was no good since the substance had already hardened.
Then on his external sensors he picked up the sound of running water. He quickly rechecked his TACMAP. To his surprise and gratitude, he was closer now to the southern river.
He forced himself back on his feet and hobbled through the jungle. After 20 meters he came out onto the riverbank. He stumbled to the edge and eased his paralyzed leg into the waters, resting his boot on the stony riverbed. He knew that the plastic polymer dissolved in water and felt it sizzle on his leg as the chemical reaction removed the substance.
While it did, he checked the armor's TEAMBIO which displayed everyone's faces and vitals. His heartbeat was at 60 bpm and rising. Everyone else ranged between 70 to 90. Zack was at a concerning 120 bpm. He deeply hoped the radioman wasn't doing something stupid.
The last of the polymer dissolved and feeling came back into his leg. He stood and stomped out the last of the pins and needles sensation.
He dashed alongside the river, hoping to reach where it converged with the southwest river right before the Point.
He reached an area where it descended into a mossy ravine and skirted along the darkness of the natural overhang. Halfway to the end he spotted more flashlights. Someone was moving through the underbrush atop the adjacent side of the ravine.
Duncan reflexively retreated into a slight alcove in the incline and crouched behind the large boulder there. Increasing his audio sensitivity to 150% he could make out their voices. He could tell that it was a four-man patrol. The frequency with which he was running into them made it obvious that it would only get harder the closer he came to the finish line.
He would have to wait for them to pass. What he had to learn early on was that, ironically, the worst time to use the stealth armor was at night, a time that was probably chosen on purpose. The SPI's photoreactive panels relied on laminate plates that used light-bending technologies to refract light. However, in the absence of sunlight, the plates were more sensitive to direct light exposure on one portion of the exterior, such as the concentrated amount that came from the DIs' high-powered flashlights. If they so much as caught him with it, his SPI would refract the concentrated beams at odd angles like a straw in water. They would notice the odd refractions and set their weapon sites accordingly. The best he could do was keep his distance.
Duncan heard them move on. After peeking out to make sure he was clear, he slipped out of the alcove and carried on through the ravine.
He quietly blended between the bushes of the tree-line and the bank as he rounded a bend. Then he saw the point where the southern and southwest rivers converged into a single river heading further south to join what was called the Twin Forks River. There were two wooden bridges, one stretching over either river of the slanted, T-shaped water juncture. Beyond that were floodlights stationed atop the four guard towers that monitored the jungle surrounding El Morro Point.
Duncan studied their movements. They shifted across the entire area, occasionally checking the bridges and the area nearby.
He heard quick footsteps running over wooden planks.
Gunfire erupted, making Duncan instinctually retreat behind a nearby bush. He watched as two streams of heavy machine gun fire shot out from opposite banks to pepper the bridge crossing the southwestern river. The floodlights flashed to the location in time for him to see a semi-translucent figure reeling under the hail of TTR fire. The active camouflaging fell and the SPI wearer collapsed onto the bridge a second later, twitching at the swath of polymer rounds that caked them all over.
On TEAMBIO, Duncan saw Zack's heartbeat drop precipitously to 40 bpm. He was unconscious.
Two DIs walked out from the other side of the bridge and examined him. When they were sure he was down, they picked him up by his arms and legs and carried him back to the Point.
Duncan shook his head. He peered out at where the gunfire came from. Not spotting anything on the opposing bank of the southern river, he upped his visor's magnification and noticed a shape peeking out from the shadows of the trees. It was slowly rotating to the left, stopped then rotated right. He froze as he recognized it by its two long barrels and support gimbal. It was an M202 XP Machine Gun, an automated stationary turret with a high rate of fire. He was secretly thankful that Zack had triggered them first. Otherwise he might've made the same mistake.
Their infrared sensors had to have been maxed out on sensitivity. Deep Winter had taught them that the SPI was not completely undetectable to those kinds of scanners.
"Guess it's not that easy." He said under his breath. He mapped out the closest turret's cone of fire. Noting its range, he had two options. One, time it so that he crossed the southern river and got too close for it to shoot him. Two, cross the river further down and get the drop on it from behind. The first was faster yet more dangerous while the second was slower and safer. For the sake of time he chose the first.
He waited for the turret to turn away before dashing out. He slipped into the river and waded against the tides. He still had five meters left to go when the turret started swinging back towards him. He quickly dived beneath the waves, using his gauntleted hands to force holds in the stony bottom. The armor's weight kept him from floating up and the cold temperatures would hide his heat signature. He crawled forward across the riverbed while counting off the seconds in his head. At seven he reached the incline of the bank and leaped back up, breaking the surface.
The turret was already turned away. He bounded from the water, swiftly crossed over the bank and braced behind a tree several meters away. He carefully circumnavigated its thick hide until he saw the weapon. Though its back was exposed, he knew better than to rush it. The DIs would have thought this through. If one of Squad Epsilon had seen another teammate get gunned down by the two turrets then the natural next step would be to disable them, a logical conclusion that anyone could come to.
He scanned the ground. Near the base of the turret were three thin wires that stitched across the underbrush. He traced them to three distinctly hexagonal, metal cylinders barely noticeable above the grass: TTR claymores.
The claymores formed a triangular range around the gun that couldn't be crossed, not directly. Duncan spotted a sturdy branch of a Mahogany tree that loomed over the gun. He grabbed a rock the size of his fist and crept towards the mahogany tree, pulling himself onto the branch. He shimmied up its length to get within range.
The turret was right below. He took aim at the rectangular box between the twin barrels that contained its automated fire control, waited until it was perfectly still then threw the rock between his heartbeats.
The armor's strength enhancements gave his throw the extra boost it needed to pierce the housing and slam into the firing control. There was a whine of sparking machinery. The turret's rotation slowed to a halt and its lights winked out.
Duncan slowly shuffled back off the branch and leaped down to the ground. Now all that remained was the other gun.
No sooner did he direct his attention to the more distant turret farther down the southwestern river when he spotted a blur of movement followed by a flash of sparks. The second turret stopped a second later. He quickly realized that he wasn't the only one with the same idea.
He sprinted for the southwestern bridge. With his camouflage still engaged and the way clear, he quietly moved across the wooden planks, giving thanks that none of the floodlights turned his way.
Duncan reached the tree-line, ducking well below any lights combing the jungle.
The perimeter fence of El Morro Point came within sight. The front gate was wide open. He merely had to cross the threshold. He was about to make a run for it when he noticed the presence of the man standing about five meters from the gate. It was Mendez. He was simply standing there, arms folded across his chest and his attention set firmly on the entrance.
Duncan simply hoped he wouldn't shoot him. He waited for the last light to move somewhere else before he jogged the rest of the way. He stopped at the threshold where Mendez would've been able to see him if he were visible. But Duncan wondered if he actually was because the Senior Chief Petty Officer was staring right at him.
He stepped tentatively so that his footsteps wouldn't be noticed. Mendez just kept looking him right in the eyes to the point that he was an arm's length away from the man.
"You can drop the active camo now, son." Mendez said. "You crossed the finish line a while back."
Duncan flushed red with embarrassment. He deactivated his camo and stood at attention. "I apologize sir, I couldn't tell if you could see me or not."
"I saw both of you a way off." Mendez said. "You tend to recognize a shimmer a mile away when you've worked long enough in this line of work."
Both of you? Duncan was about to ask when he saw another SPI-wearer deactivate their camo on his left. The other figure shrugged. "Dang, I couldn't even try to sneak up on you, could I sir?" Deaks asked, laughing.
"Never had a chance, corporal." Mendez said drily. "And I'm guessing that little stunt you two pulled with our machine guns wasn't coordinated?"
"Sir, I didn't know Deaks was here at all." Duncan said respectfully.
"Same." Deaks added. "Guess great minds think alike."
Mendez looked them over with a scrutinizing gaze. At length he pointed to a nearby building further to their left. "Staff Sergeant Atell and PSC Matthews are already inside. You can lounge around until the rest of your squad gets here."
Duncan was even more surprised that the Staff was already here. He knew how Zack had made it over but not the Staff. Both him and Deaks gave the SCPO their "yessir" and made for the structure.
"You really think great minds think alike, Deaks?" Duncan asked snidely as they jogged up onto the outside patio.
"Not really." Deaks sighed, "All that happened is my great mind had to tell your small one what to do using telepathy."
"Huh?"
"You're welcome." Deaks grabbed the door and opened it for them. The two stepped into a lounge area. There were chairs and tables, several wall-mounted communication's displays and ceiling lights that bathed the room in white light. Two others were already inside.
The Staff sat with his helmet off, staring unamused at a half-conscious Zack who was slumped in a chair with his TTR-splattered armor, his eyes half-closed and a trail of spit running down his cheek.
They pulled off their helmets and the Staff gave them a knowing look. "At least you two made it in one piece."
Deaks took a nearby seat, scratching his head as he watched Zack slowly coming to. "What're we going to do with him?"
Zack's mouth twitched open, his words coming out garbled.
Deaks tapped him on the shoulder. "Take it easy bud, you took one too many TTRs back there. Just wait till the anesthesia wears off, okay?"
Zack gave a slow nod of his head.
Deaks took a small pepper shaker from a table and placed it on Zack's forehead. Zack blinked at him in confusion. He was about to say something else when Deaks put a reassuring hand back on his shoulder. "Take it easy." He proceeded to place another shaker on his forehead.
The radioman said something else garbled.
Again, Deaks rest a hand on his shoulder, although this time with a widening grin. "What'd I say, rest, doctor's orders."
Zack groaned worriedly but couldn't bring himself to form the right words as Deaks finished off his work by placing a fork atop the two shakers, forming a bridge.
"See, now when you cross a bridge, make sure you look both ways, like this." He pointed a finger left then right before cruising the digit across the fork. "See, just like crossing a road." He patted the radioman on the face.
Duncan stifled a laugh.
The Staff laughed a little as well.
Over the next ten minutes the rest of the squad came in, unscathed by TTR. Upon seeing Zack and hearing his story, they couldn't help chuckling at his expense. Once everyone was present, the SCPO stepped inside.
Epsilon, save for its seventh member, stood at attention. Mendez spotted Zack and raised an eyebrow but ignored him all the same. "The average time for Squad Epsilon is 15 minutes. Almost as good as the Beta Company trainees doing SPI integration with the LC."
"What's the Spartans' average?" Nova asked.
"Five minutes."
"I guess we're not Spartans then." Zack said, a little more lucid now.
"You can say that again." Hector huffed.
"I guess we're not Spartans then."
Hector side-eyed him and Zack grinned back. "Sorry, it's the anesthesia, I swear."
"All except one passed." Mendez said. "However, most of you passing will have to be good enough for now."
Deep Winter appeared next to the SCPO in all his icy glory as he braced on his cane. "In case anyone was wondering, your dormitory is ready for you. If we're done here…" He turned to Mendez who nodded back.
"Grab your gear and follow me, we're heading back to Curahee." Mendez said and headed for the doors.
"What poetry." Deep Winter chuckled before disappearing in a puff of snowflakes.
The ODSTs slipped their helmets back on. Since he still had trouble walking, Hector slung Zack's arm over his shoulder and helped him along as everyone left through the doors.
Lapides onychinos - Onyx