Chapter 4 - Milites
October 21st, 2544 (14:20 Hours – Military Calendar)
Zeta Doradus System, Onyx
Near Camp Curahee
:********:
Lieutenant Colonel Ambrose considered the happenings of the last two weeks in line with everything that was about to unfold.
Since their arrival on Onyx, Squad Epsilon had adapted quickly to life at Camp Curahee. The armor integration training for the first week was a success. He noticed a similar rate of proficiency development between the Beta Company candidates and the shock troopers.
He had gotten a decent feel for the personalities of all his Spartans in Beta, just like he had with Alpha. It was the same for these ODSTs.
Staff Sergeant Atell was the rational mind behind Epsilon, always maintaining his calm while organizing the squad's efforts against a clear objective despite the curveballs Mendez threw at them that he was so fond of using on the Spartans.
Specialist Novak, the team's engineer was an effective second-in-command for the Staff, often being a competent leader when the squad broke into teams of four to accomplish a given task.
Private Second-Class Matthews had all the characteristic hallmarks of a high-school dropout conscripted into the Marines, somewhat aloof at the worst of times yet able to get his head in the game when necessary.
PSC Paulson was at his best behind the wheel of a Warthog. Despite his generally laid-back disposition, his vehicular prowess was nothing to scoff at, possibly even comparable to that of Spartan B096.
Kurt, however, was somewhat concerned about PSC Mastovich. For an ODST with Air Force accreditations he was, unequivocally, strange. In an instant his uncaring demeanor could change into fierce antagonism and on every other occasion he had a near animalistic glint in his eyes. Maybe that was normal among the Helljumpers who were so often sent into the heat of battle. Maybe not.
PSC Corkeva was something of an artist when it came to explosives, yet his calm demeanor occasionally proved hyper-serious in response to his failures, leading Kurt to sense something of a perfectionist in the man.
Then there was Private Iris.
Although his file said he'd been an ODST for less than a year now, the fact remained that he had a growing track record for adaptability. He'd even had the tactical acuity to disable Mendez' M202s, the feat itself being only topped by the Staff Sergeant who'd figured out how to navigate through the trees to reach El Morro.
They were all impressive in their own ways. Yet there was one that Kurt kept a watchful eye on.
It was evident that the squad's sniper, Corporal Deaks had an eye for details. He seemed to be catching on a lot faster than Kurt wanted him to. The truth about the Spartans would have to be made clear to Epsilon sooner or later. But Kurt had decided to allow them to adapt to life on Onyx first. Keeping them away from Beta Company with their separate schedules was a duel-sided tact, both to train either parties and to give the ODSTs the time they needed to adjust before the curtains were finally pulled away.
Today, those curtains were about to be pulled and there was no way of putting them back up.
He stood alongside Mendez inside Curahee's command center watching the several dozen screens lining the trifold front-walls. The displays showed a myriad of different angles of the several combat simulation environments being used for today's exercises. The four firefight arenas around Camp Curahee were being utilized to test the Spartan IIIs' team-cohesion. Twelve individual teams were being tested, three at each arena. He felt certain which teams would do well, Lima at the mountainous Arena 1, Romeo at the canyon of Arena 2 and Xray at the jungle planes of Arena 4. But right now, the bulk of his attention and concern revolved around Arena 3.
The Urban Combat simulation arena was the remains of what Kurt believed to be an earlier attempt to colonize Onyx that was, for reasons unknown even to him, aborted and abandoned years before he first arrived here. It was north of Curahee, only a few kilometers shy of the area known as Zone 67 which made him occasionally wonder if the two locations were ever somehow related. Whether it was or not, it was the Spartans' preferred location. The lack of major land formations and the presence of a dozen buildings provided the highest variety of potential matches, making the city-block-sized locale the ideal space for a firefight.
Team Foxtrot was being tested first. Then it would be Team India's turn, and finally Zeta. Kurt had his attention on all three. They each had some of Beta Company's top performers. There were even several notable Cat 2s in the mix that he wanted to observe closely.
In addition, Epsilon was joining the twelve Drill Instructors already assigned there. This would be the ODSTs' first time coming into direct contact with the Beta Company candidates. He couldn't keep himself from secretly worrying, not for the Spartans but for the ODSTs.
On one screen he saw two of the SPI-armored troopers carrying a M247 General Purpose machine gun. They were lifting it towards a wall of sandbags that rimmed a bridge stretching between two buildings. Their IFF tags identified them as PSC Paulson and Corkeva. It was the way they carried the gun that triggered something within Kurt, a memory. He remembered how Shane and Robert had also carried Jane's limp body between them, fighting to escape from Elites across the smoldering surface of K7-49. His hands involuntarily balled into fists. He noticed and checked the action. That wouldn't happen, he thought. Not again, not with Beta Company.
"Sir?"
Kurt blinked and turned to Mendez who was standing off to his left, watching him with his naturally reserved demeanor.
"I'm fine." He replied.
He wasn't. There was something about the ODSTs' presence that had him on edge, although he couldn't tell exactly what.
Mendez looked at him a moment longer. Still he nodded and returned his attention to the screens. "Looks like Drill Instructor Madston and the Staff Sergeant are working things out on their end. All four perimeters are locked down pretty tight."
Kurt scrutinized the screens that displayed the four different bridges where two-man machine gun nests were setup above the streetways that passed underneath to form a roundabout. The roundabout itself encircled an oil refinery the size of a factory. It included semi-regenerative reforming pipelines, oil distillation units, diesel hydrotreating and sulfur recovery units. It was a dormant installation. That said, the mission mandated that it be treated as though it were active.
Team Foxtrot's objective was to reach the refinery and plant explosives on key infrastructure before their exfil. However, some twenty Curahee DIs stood in their way. It would be no simple task to say the least.
The DIs had established gun nests on the northern, southern, eastern and western bridges to guard the inroads to the refinery. A sniper pair manned the installation's rooftops. Five DIs were positioned within the surrounding buildings and another five secured the critical components within the refinery.
"Let's see how this plays out." Kurt said, eyeing the timer.
"Do you think he'll have a strong showing later?" Mendez asked.
"Who?"
Mendez looked at him. "ONI's prodigy. Didn't you see his armor details? They've practically already made the down-payment for him."
"I saw". Kurt sighed. He glanced back at the screen with an expectant glare. "Which is why I've put additional obstacles in place for that group. Not to show favoritism, but each team has had its objectives determined based on what prior examination criteria suggested they needed to improve on."
Mendez folded his arms across his chest. "Let's hope the ODSTs are just as ready for this as they are then."
Kurt nodded. "Let's hope so."
:********:
Duncan would've actually preferred being in an HEV plunging through the thermosphere than standing where he was now. At least it wouldn't be as boring. For the better part of half an hour all he'd done was hide behind a set of pipes in the refinery's primary storage chamber.
Since the start, he and Nova were posted behind the three filtration boilers each the size of a Scorpion battle tank at the back of the room. The Staff and Zack provided internal overwatch from the overhanging lattice of ceiling beams some ten meters above.
These three boilers were Foxtrot's objective. They would lie in wait to ambush them if they made it this far in.
"I think they're mind gaming us." Duncan said. "Shouldn't they have attacked by now?"
"Don't let down your guard, they still have ten minutes left." The Staff advised.
"Deaks says they still haven't spotted anything." Zack added. "His feed's showing all four streets clear."
Nova shrugged. "Maybe they're out getting lunch first so-":
"Hold on." Zack interrupted, perking up. "Hey…hey-hey check out Rico's feed. Looks like they're starting."
Duncan used his heads-up-display to quickly scroll through the helmet cams of the twenty DIs and stopped at Rico's.
The view of his squadmate's HUD showed him observing the western street with Hector at the machine gun. Both were watching a small firefight in the distance.
Duncan spotted them then, their SPI's active camouflaging making them specters against the noon-lit cityscape. He made out four humanoid shimmers sprinting down the street seventy meters away, headed for the refinery.
A pair of drill instructors targeted them from the windows of two adjacent buildings. The bursts of TTR fire splattered the concrete and painted the scenic civilian cars parked below. Yet the Spartans were fast, too fast for them to accurately track. They broke off into pairs and separated, sticking close to the sides of passing buildings while firing at the instructors with pin-point accuracy. Windows shattered at the return fire and the two DIs fell to well-placed headshots.
On the team roster their names were marked off with an 'X', labeling them 'out of action'.
Through Rico's camera, he saw a tracer from a sniper round miss a Spartan by centimeters.
The team of four pressed closer to the sides of the buildings leading up the western approach, using the structures' verandas to cover their movements.
A second sniper round rang out, splattering harmlessly off the top of a veranda. The Spartans carried on regardless, quickly closing the distance.
Duncan heard Deaks growl over comms.
While Hector started up the M247, Rico tried tracking the shimmers with his grenade launcher. He pulled the trigger, loosing a grenade.
It sailed over thirty meters and detonated beneath a truck, throwing it onto its side and showering the front of the nearby building with red polymer.
Except for hitting the glass windows of the ground-floor, it helped halt the Spartans' advance. Seeing the blast, the shimmers stopped and took up firing positions behind four support columns beneath the verandas, two on either side of the street.
Hector hammered their positions with the M247. He periodically switched between the two sides of the road to keep both binaries pinned. Duncan wondered if Hector was losing it with his tactics. The constantly predictable maneuvering would leave the Spartans not immediately being targeted with openings to take him out. Then he started figuring out what he was actually up to when he saw Rico paying attention where Hector wasn't. He'd switch with his squadmate to cover the opposite area in tandem. They were covering each other's blind spots while potentially convincing the Spartans that Hector was wide open. That way they might step out and give Rico an opening.
The tact paid off when two shimmers on the left broke cover and made a run for it. Although they were smart to move in different directions from each other, Rico wasn't keen on letting them get far, sending a grenade at the one sprinting towards the bridge.
The Spartan easily leaped away and out of the range but kept sprinting towards them.
Rico popped another round into his grenade launcher and fired again.
Instead of turning heel, however, the transparent Spartan grabbed the grenade out of the air and kept running. The camo-patterns reacted to the fizzling ordinance and turned a fiery orange, giving the super-soldier the image of a denizen of hell itself. And he was coming straight for them.
Rico gave a surprised grunt that stuck in his throat.
The flaming Spartan weaved beneath sprays of machine gun responses and ducked under sniper fire until he got within ten meters and vaulted the grenade back into the air. It hit the bridge at such an angle that it bounced past the lip, directly in front of Hector and Rico.
Duncan winced as the feed winked out. On the team roster, Hector and Rico were marked off with an 'X'.
Starting to get slightly worried, Duncan switched to Deaks' view. He found himself sighting through an SRS-99 at 10x optical zoom. The corporal was struggling to keep up with Foxtrot's serpentine maneuvers. When he thought he had one dead to rights they managed to leap to the side as if predicting his aim.
In following their movements his scope passed the western bridge where Duncan saw two limp forms lying prone, covered with polymer from the waist up.
The scope caught sight of a Spartan that had deactivated their camo. They were running with a backpack while firing their MA5K at the several DIs opening up on them from different levels of the refinery. On Duncan's HUD the software identified him as 'Min-B174'.
Deaks pulled the trigger. Again, the Spartan dodged. Min suddenly skidded to a stop right next to a sewer manhole and tossed the bag on top of it before rolling away. It detonated a second later, punching through the manhole, at the same time releasing an encompassing smoke cloud.
Min leaped inside followed by his nearest squadmate. The last two came running and gunning and disappeared into the smoke together.
When the haze finally dissipated, Deaks zoomed in to find nothing there except an open manhole.
"Not good." Zack sighed, having watched the same feed.
Duncan logged off the view feeling more alert. "Anybody knows where that leads?"
"In here." The Staff said. "You know what to do."
Duncan, Nova and Zack flashed their acknowledgement lights and crouched behind their positions.
While they were waiting, Duncan checked the feeds of two DIs inside the building. Instructors Nelson and Ackerman were guarding a hallway not far from the storage room. The emergency lights flickered red, indicating a security breach. Blaring horns came on that prompted them to sight through the crosshairs of their MA5Bs down the passage.
A minute passed where nothing happened.
Duncan almost missed it when an arm snaked around Nelson's neck from behind and pulled him into the shadows. His camera immediately winked off.
He checked Ackerman's view and found a similar blackout.
The two instructors were marked off simultaneously.
The ODST took a breath to ease the growing anxiety burning in his chest. He tensed when the chamber door burst open, courtesy of a breaching charge. He hooked his finger around the trigger of his carbine, held it close to his chest and listened.
Metal-footsteps moved across the room. He discerned the presence of at least two individuals. He checked the Staff's camera view.
The Staff was staring down at the two individuals on the ground floor that switched off their camo simultaneously.
The pair were a male and female, the former being taller than the latter. His HUD identified their IFF tags as 'Tom B292' and 'Lucy-B091' respectively.
The pair fanned out across the room, scanning the small labyrinth of crates and the far-wall for targets. As they moved for the boilers, they were unable to spot the Staff as he lined up his sites on Tom.
There was a loud BANG. The Staff's view shifted to the ceiling's adjacent side where the gratings on two vents were kicked out by armored boots. Another pair of uncamouflaged Spartans leaped out onto the crossbeams and opened fire on the Staff and Zack. The ODSTs stayed low while returning the favor, turning the area above the room into a small firefight.
Duncan peeked over at Nova two boilers down. She held up three-fingers and counted. At one, they both sprinted out from cover to ambush the two on the ground.
Nova was stopped halfway when a gauntleted elbow from the side struck her in the visor, flooring her instantly.
Duncan turned to see her struggling to wrestle her gun barrel out of the hands of 091. He was still confused as to when the Spartan had gotten there when TTRs shot past. He returned fire, spotting 292 just as he swiveled behind a crate.
At the same time the Staff and Zack were marked off the team roster. He could hardly believe it until he looked up and spotted their polymer covered bodies hanging from the crossbeams. Things were falling apart far faster than he'd expected.
He ran towards Nova while trading fire with 292 to keep him at a distance. There was no chance of holding him off in close quarters. Even with the SPI, the Spartans proved faster than them, markedly stronger even.
Halfway to Nova he felt a round strike his left-knee midstride. He reeled forward and grasped at the quickly numbing limb.
A shadow descended over him. He tried bringing his carbine to bare but an armored boot pinned his gun arm to the floor. A rifle muzzle stopped within a hair's breadth of his visor and his struggles died away. He followed the barrel of the weapon up to its sites where the golden visor of 292 unerringly stared back.
There was a gunshot. He looked out the corner of his eye at Nova. She was lying prone now, a single TTR splattered over her helmet.
She too was marked off the roster.
Lucy B-091 casually strolled over with her M6 still in hand. B174, Min, rappelled down from the ceiling using a rope and landed on the ground floor, walking towards them with a similar casualness.
"Waiting for something?" Lucy asked, pointing her sidearm at Duncan.
"Is the room secure?"
"As secure as it'll ever be, Adam's already on guard duty." Min said, nodding up at the ceiling. Duncan saw the shadow of the sole SPI-wearer left crouching on the ceiling beams, aiming his carbine at the open doorway. His IFF tag identified him as 'Adam-B004'.
Tom turned to Duncan. He traced a single finger around his visor to form the arc of a smile as he leveled his carbine at his chest. "Thanks for the easy win."
A three-round burst to the the gut left him gasping for air while his armor locked down, immobilizing him.
The Spartans moved on. He watched the three of them plant fake explosives onto the vulnerable boilers then set the timers.
"Alright, lets move." Tom said. At his order they made for the door. Adam rappelled down to join them. They regrouped at the threshold and departed, disappearing just as quickly as they had come.
The room was quiet again.
Unable to move, Duncan listened to the consecutive beeps from the charges. While they were going off, he decided to see who was left. More than half of the DI roster was wiped out. The comm-chatter was confused. He couldn't say anything because his own comms was locked down to simulate being 'dead'. Still he could make out the remaining DIs, Yuri and Deaks searching unsuccessfully for the Spartans.
A minute passed before the charges stopped, indicating zero.
A voice came on the intercom. "This is Lieutenant Commander Ambrose to all staff in Arena-3. The boilers are destroyed and the Spartans have successfully evac'd. Suck it up people, looks like this round goes to Foxtrot."
:********:
Arena-3's Commercial district was an array of a dozen buildings of varying heights and sizes that together formed a three-layered urban maze. Meant to simulate combat conditions in a trade zone, it was mostly offices and shopping centers with three dividing highways that ran east to west. The remaining streets ran north to south, dividing the area further.
A fifty-meter wall separated this training ground from the one they'd left. After being 'revived' with TTR batons, Epsilon and the other instructors transferred here to test the next group: Team India.
Duncan wasn't sure what to expect. The encounter with Foxtrot left him more than a little shaken. He wasn't certain if anybody else felt the same way since they had to get going so fast. However, Nova had been unusually quiet after her run-in with B091. He still wasn't certain how the Spartan had gotten so close so fast. Regardless there was no time to think on it too hard.
'Would speed be the determinant here?' That was the question on everyone's minds now as they patrolled their target buildings.
The goal here was to prevent the Spartans from escaping with a High Value Individual in a hostage rescue mission. Per the LC's instruction, India would choose between four target buildings to search for the hostage 'UNSC Officer'. However, in raiding the wrong building, the 'hostage' would be executed and the team would be immediately declared the losers of this match.
How exactly the Spartans were to find out which building held the hostage was completely left up to interpretation. It did seem off to say the least. Then again, these Beta Company candidates were more on the unpredictable side. The soreness in Duncan's ribs paid testament to that.
He remembered how B292 had stood over him with his rifle. He remembered his voice and that of the rest of his team. There was something about them that didn't sound right, as if they were all much younger than they appeared.
Sure, Epsilon had Zack who was an early bloomer. That said, something didn't sit right with him about it. He tried to ignore his own inward curiosities as he worked.
At 1500 hours, Duncan was manning the observation room containing the displays for all the security cameras stationed at key points around the district. The seat wasn't strong enough to hold his SPI so he had to stand as he checked the individual feeds. The streets were clear and quiet, just like the job itself. It was better than getting shot again at least.
He typed in different commands for some cameras to switch to infrared in checking for any unidentified heat signatures.
Still nothing.
It had been well over ten minutes since the round had started.
Still nothing.
He switched on his comms. "We're in the green, sir."
"Understood." The Staff replied. "Keep a close eye on Sector 9. You see anything there, even if its just a squirrel, you tell us."
"Will do."
Duncan checked one of the feeds from Sector 9. The display showed a five-story apartment complex within the district's southwestern corner. It was the one that held the real hostage while acting as a counter to the three other decoy buildings, structures they believed the Spartans would likely search first. They had planted TTR claymores in those structures and established posts in other buildings to muster a quick and decisive response against India upon first sighting.
Another feed later he was looking at a room on the fourth floor. It had an encompassing yet tinted window view overlooking the surrounding cityscape. Inside were three DIs armed with MA5Bs. One stood guard at the door, the other two around a chair where the 'hostage', a crash dummy clothed in a Navy officer's uniform, sat.
"Iris to Staff, HVI building is still secure."
"Copy. Check the exit gate."
Duncan shifted over to another display off to his right. It showed the trapezoidal passageway within the site's encompassing wall near the northeastern Sector 4: Team India's sole escape route. If they managed to flee through it with the hostage then it was all over.
He was about to report that it was clear when one of his cameras cut out without warning. "What?"
"Something wrong?" The Staff asked.
"Not sure." Duncan typed in a string of activation commands on his keyboard. Yet the feed refused to reactivate. Then just as quickly the camera observing Sector 4 winked out. He sent another activation command but met a similar response.
He tried switching to feeds from different cameras showing the same locations. All of the ones observing Sector 4 were already shut off, almost preemptively. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Cams in Sectors 1 and 4 just shut off. I think the system's compromised."
"Compromised?" The Staff asked with palpable concern.
"I…think someone else is in the system."
The Staff was saying something else when a dull whine caught his attention. Duncan glanced back at the individual monitors. His breath hitched in his throat. On almost a dozen feeds the cameras' individual power functions were suddenly accessed on-screen. The only problem was that the access prompt hadn't come from the security room, not from him.
He saw the cameras' deuterium battery reliance jump from 75% to 200% in two seconds flat, setting them up to overload. Duncan's eyes widened. He quickly began typing in commands to curtail the overload. "Staff, someone else is in the system. They're trying to fry our cameras in several sectors."
The Staff winked his acknowledgement light and switched to team comms. "Be advised, our security network's been compromised. Stay alert, something's coming."
Epsilon winked its acknowledgement lights while the Staff passed the message on to the Curahee DIs. All the while Duncan fought to hold back an elusive enemy.
For every camera he managed to save, three more would overload as the rapid overreliance on the deuterium batteries without the proper warm-up procedures caused them to ignite.
A distant explosion made him turn to the nearby window. Far off near the most northern of the three highways was Target Building 1 in Sector 1. Smoke billowed out from the building.
He used his HUD to get a view of Deaks' feed. The corporal was sighting down his scope at a blown open window when three more explosions went off in quick succession, blowing through the glass. Duncan noticed a spray of red polymer that smeared the shattered remains of other windows.
"Deaks to Staff, looks like our claymores in Building 1 just went off…all at once."
"Come again?"
"They're out sir, all four claymores by my count."
Duncan didn't even get the chance to consider it when another four explosions went off in the distance. Deaks zoomed out of his scope to reposition further right. He homed in on the smoke coming from several blown-out windows on Target Building 2 in Sector 5.
Duncan instantly connected the dots between his blacked out displays and the destroyed explosives. "Sir, I think the Spartans are setting off the claymores remotely."
"How? They're not connected to any networks."
"It's the cameras. They're overloading the deuterium batteries. If they do that, they can generate large EM waves that can filter through a building's infrastructure a moment before the cameras self-destruct. Those fields are setting off the claymores' laser-detection capabilities. Whoever's in the system figured out how to cook the cams exactly right. They're…a genius, sir. We'll have to-"
"Thanks for calling me a genius."
The voice was not the Staff's, nor anyone else' that he knew. It was a girl's, a teenager's. It had a middle eastern twang that oozed with confidence.
Duncan frantically checked his commlinks, only to find they were all inactive.
"I cut you off once you figured out what I was up to." The voice said. "I wouldn't bother trying to reconnect either. I've isolated your signal so only I can hear it. Now, how about a game."
He watched unnerved as a display winked on that he hadn't touched. It was the camera feed of the hostage room. The camera scanned across the room then zoomed in on the crash dummy. "Between you and me I'd rather not have to shoot anybody, not humans. Let's see if you can stop me, Mr. Tech-guy."
Duncan swallowed. From his downed comms to the hijacked camera systems he wasn't even sure where to start. How was she isolating his signals? Who was he dealing with in the first place?
He forced his focus onto the most pressing matter, the cameras.
On several displays he saw multiple DIs taking aim at Target Building 3 as their interior cameras exploded and set off the claymores, blowing out more windows and causing more DIs to focus on the center of the action.
But that wasn't where the true action would unfold. Duncan figured that much out when he saw the half a dozen feeds monitoring various hallways within Building 4, showing their battery percentages rising drastically. If they detonated, they would easily set off the claymores within, clearing a path straight to the hostage room.
He grabbed the keyboard and started typing in rapid-fire commands to halt the cameras' overload. Some responded far slower than others. Most refused outright. That wasn't a good sign. It meant his competitor, this likely Spartan, was implementing the inherent counter-intrusion software within the individual camera servers. They were literally using his own system against him. If it was the main server, he could simply stop it at its source. But using the individual cameras made it so that he had to conduct search and destroy on each intrusion software using the system-override code posted on his desk. He was a conventional force waging war against a guerilla fighter refusing to face him in open combat. In that way they were smarter. Now he was spending more time uploading overrides against each camera's rogue intrusion software only to have less time to keep the cams themselves from blowing up. It made him feel like he was having a hard time playing checkers while the other person was breezing through a round of chess.
Team India had to have been detonating the claymores in the other buildings to give the impression that that was where they were. Yet they weren't. That wouldn't stop the DIs from watching the entrances to those target buildings. It would ultimately leave them open to being blindsided, and he couldn't even tell them that at this rate.
At disabling the fourth camera he was blindsided himself. A rising firewall stopped him in his tracks, blocking his overrides. The notification that popped up branded his codes as a detected virus trying to gain entry.
"Ironic, right?" The mystery Spartan chuckled over comms. "You were so busy with the software that you didn't keep track of the hardware."
Duncan winced and swiveled to the central processing unit; a disc-shaped device attached to the wall in front of him. He finally noticed the blue light that was on. Then it clicked. They had gotten into the system by somehow forcing a connection. That alone suggested he was dealing with someone like himself, a cryptanalyst who wasn't an amateur to boot.
He thought back to the Falkirk's collection of SPI armor, remembering the single set with the TACPAD. That had to be it, the device they were using. The only thing that escaped him was the name attached to the armor.
Duncan tried the code again. Again, it rejected him as the cameras continued to overheat. The system suddenly threatened to lock him out unless he verified his identity.
"Just curious…what's your name?" The voice asked with intrigue.
Duncan felt the sweat beading off his face. Cryptanalytically speaking, she already had him in a chokehold. He gritted his teeth in frustration. "Who wants to know?"
"Ah." The voice said mockingly. "Turning the tables on me, are you? Think you're good enough to know? If you asked me, I'd say you're pretty bad at your job."
"You're not very humble yourself, are you?"
"I'll admit I'm not humble if you admit that you actually suck at this."
Duncan laughed while still searching for a way out. He reached for the CPU's power cord. Maybe if he amused her with conversation while rebooting the whole system, sure he would be temporarily blind but he could at least-
"Nah, not happening." The other said. "Nice try though."
The battery reliance on the remaining cameras of Building 4 suddenly spiked to 300% before their feeds blacked out.
The explosions in the distance came in quick succession followed by the sound of showering glass.
Duncan switched to the available camera views on Sector 9. The building there had several windows blown out.
His brow furrowed at the extent of his own failure.
She'd been toying with him. She could've blown the cameras the moment she gained access but she decided to test him first. He felt utterly humiliated. It really was just a game for this Spartan.
He switched to DI Rodriguez' feed right in time to see him and another instructor turn towards the door of the hostage room. The DI standing guard there was thrown clear as the door blew open a second later. Two flashbang grenades flew in, creating two small suns that temporarily blinded them.
Duncan was still able to make out the Spartan that came barreling inside. Their IFF tag instantly identified them as 'Gino-B307'. He sprinted past the discombobulated DIs, leaped and grabbed the hostage out of the chair before using his momentum to crash back-first through the nearby window.
Duncan switched to a feed in Sector 9 showing Gino falling four floors with the dummy. What he wasn't expecting was for the Spartan to land effortlessly on the hood of a Warthog waiting on the street below. The impact dented the hood slightly. Gino nodded to the driver, another Spartan whose tag ID'd him as 'Owen-B096'.
Gino clambered into the passenger seat with the hostage. Having recovered, the drill instructors rushed to the broken window to fire down on them. The Spartan on the turret, 'Samson-B041' leaned back to fire up at them, forcing them away from the edge.
Owen wheeled them around onto the road and they sped down the southernmost highway, headed west.
Halfway down the highway they were nearly T-boned by another Hog that came bursting down an intersection, grazing the enemy vehicle's rear. Hector was at the wheel.
The chase was on.
Duncan shifted to Yuri's point of view. The ODST skimmed the top of the lead vehicle with his turret while the Staff fired his carbine from the passenger seat, trying to hit the hostage. No matter what happened, if the hostage were killed then the match would be declared over instantly.
Samson swiveled his own turret around to return fire, dotting the rear Hog's windshield with polymer.
They turned onto a street headed for Sector 3. Owen suddenly swung right down a narrow alley, a near impossible feat. Hector turned hard right to follow, scraping the walls of the narrow passage that gave Yuri the chance to target their rear tires.
The Russian was almost sent flying when the Spartans' Hog broke hard, causing them to slam into its back. Owen started up again, giving Gino the opening to toss back a frag that Hector had the grave misfortune of having land right in his lap.
There was a deafeningly close blast and Yuri's camera signal cut out.
On the roster, Hector and Yuri were marked off.
Duncan checked in with a camera in Sector 3. He spotted the Staff limping towards the end of the alleyway. He fired around the corner at the escaping Warthog but his shots were too wide to hit.
The vehicle suddenly came to a stop in front of an office building.
A window on the second story flew apart as another Spartan leaped through. They stuck the dismount on the right side of the Hog and held on while Owen sped onwards to the northernmost highway.
The last Spartan of Team India looked back directly at Duncan's camera and waved, showing the TACPAD on their left arm. "Better luck next time new guy…or not." The voice from earlier said.
Duncan's HUD identified her IFF: 'Catherine-B320.'
The name on that armor set finally came back to him. He watched helplessly as Team India drove through Sector 1 and disappeared beyond the exit gate.
The Lieutenant Commander's voice came on the intercom shortly after. "This is Ambrose to DI personnel. Hostage Rescue simulation is complete. This match goes to India."
:********:
The Shipyards was the third and final section of Arena-3. It included three massive docking isles each large enough to hold a Stalwart-class frigate. Four 'L' shaped dockmaster buildings occupied the four corners of the kilometer square perimeter.
Here Team Zeta was about to be tested on its proficiency in the current systematic clearing operation. It was really just a nice way of saying annihilation training. In a war of extinction where true victory was measured in body counts, the ability to massacre an opponent completely and irreverently was a skillset to be valued. Duncan only wished he weren't about to be on the receiving end of that skillset.
This team Zeta seemed different from the others. It showed in the five additional drill instructors that were added to the facilitative personnel for this round. Moreover, four M202 XP machine guns were stationed around the yard. That was more than enough to convince Duncan and the rest of Epsilon that something was up.
They closely scanned the rooftops from behind the cover of their sandbag wall between the northeast dockmaster building and a nearby docking isle. The scores of crates around them, combined with the lift platforms and cranes surrounding the docking isle would provide decent cover against sniper fire. Meanwhile Epsilon's own sniper was posted on a nearby crane, acting as their guardian angel.
The sole exception to the squad's norm of vigilance proved to be Zack. Duncan watched him worriedly leaning against a sandbag while staring down the barrel of his own carbine.
"If we took ourselves out it wouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, hey, we still count as a kill if we're 'killed'. Does it really matter who pulled the trigger?"
The Staff didn't bother answering. At length, the radioman sighed and turned the muzzle away from his visor. "I'm just thinking if I'm going to get shot anyway, I might as well do it myself, ya 'know?"
"No." The Staff finally replied. "I don't. You're an orbital drop shock trooper. It's your duty to get killed by the Covenant if it comes down to it, not for you to do the job yourself."
"I'd kind of prefer Covies to this. I'm still sore from the refinery."
"Get it together trooper. The match starts in-"
A loud alarm blared across the entire space, signaling the start of the match. And if Duncan didn't know any better, he thought he'd heard a sniper round fire in tandem. He peeked over the sandbag wall to the crane twenty meters away where the corporal was stationed. "Deaks?"
"I heard it too." Deaks replied.
There was another shot.
Duncan ducked back behind cover and checked Deaks' POV. The corporal was bracing himself against the side of the railings lining the crane's rear counterweight.
On both their HUDs two DIs were marked off simultaneously.
"Crap." Deaks sighed. "Staff, looks like Marcozé and Geoffrey got hit. They were running overwatch on the two southern dockmasters. I'm thinking that's where the attack will come from."
"Prepare to engage." The Staff said while clicking the safety off his weapon. "If you see anything, take the shot or call it out."
"Yessir." Deaks said with a detectable anxiousness.
Duncan knew it didn't bode well if the squad's resident sociopath wasn't feeling comfortable about their chances. Still, that wouldn't stop them from fighting anyway. After all, a Helljumper that didn't think they were going to die on a given mission wasn't one that was thinking clearly.
Another shot rang out.
Deaks zoomed in on the northwestern dockmaster to their right where a fully exposed DI lay limp, his sniper cast aside.
The sound of an explosion immediately drew his scope away to the space between the northeast and southeast dockmasters. In the place of the M202 machine gun originally stationed there was a smoldering skeleton of burning machinery.
Deaks caught sight of a faint shimmer that sprinted out of view a moment later.
Gunfire erupted across the shipyard. On the comms, drill instructors called out targets, shouted for back-up or went silent. Deaks traced part of the commotion to the western esplanade. There a squad of five visible DIs fired from superior positions at an invisible enemy. Whoever they were shooting at proved more elusive. One by one they fell to bursts of fire that appeared to materialize out of thin air. There was a brief scuffle between two invisible figures that ended when one blew back into reality as their head was snapped back. The stricken instructor slid to a stop against a crate, unconscious.
The revelation dawned on Duncan that Team Zeta were covering for each other in binaries. One targeted the auto-turrets so the other could clear out DIs in that sector.
On the feed, a sniper round grazed the corporal's helmet. Deaks ducked and rushed back along the gantry before sliding to better cover behind the central control cabin.
"That shot came from the southwest." Deaks said. "Whoever they're guy is, he's good. He's taken out every other overwatch…except me."
"We'll need that sniper out of commission if we hope to stand a chance out here." The Staff replied.
Deaks winked his acknowledgement light. Bracing against the cab, he shuffled along to the corner, crouched and took cautious aim at the southwestern dockmaster building. The rooftop looked relatively clear, that is until he saw a muzzle flash. A second round zipped past his stomach, barely missing its mark. He squeezed off a round where he figured their head would be in reply.
The shot knocked out their active camouflage as the round glanced off a shoulder pauldron. The enemy sniper fired their SRS-99 a third time the cabin, barely missing Deaks' visor. Deaks ducked back while the Spartan dashed across the rooftop.
The corporal slid out to track him but failed to notice the arm sliding around his neck in time.
There were three suppressed shots. Deaks' camera view inverted as he collapsed onto the gantry.
Everyone quickly looked back to the corporal's position. He was lying unmoving with a very visible Spartan standing over him, the smoking barrel of a suppressed M6 in his right hand and in the left, one of Deaks' tooth necklaces. His IFF identified him: 'Jonah-B283'. Maybe sensing that he could be seen, Spartan B283 turned to look at the rest of Epsilon staring back at him far below. He slowly raised the hand with his sidearm. Instead of shooting he waved back at them.
They took aim.
"Take him out!" The Staff shouted. The squad opened up. Jonah proved faster. He ran down the gantry at full speed and dove headlong off the end. Managing to grab hold of the steel cable, he used his momentum to swing across open ground towards the nearest docking isle.
Duncan tried predicting his trajectory but was stopped short when his target activated his camo, causing him to disappear against the afternoon sky. Then the cable fell back while its invisible charge let go, likely descending into the isle.
There was a whistling noise. It was coming closer, becoming clearer to the ODSTs until they finally spotted the frag grenade headed straight for their position.
"Move!" The Staff ordered.
The troopers were quick to leap out over the wall of sandbags to escape as the grenade landed inside, bounced and detonated at waist level. A cascade of red polymer shot past, catching the nearby crates but missing the troopers.
A second explosion brought their collective attention to the north where the turret stationed there had just gone up in flames.
That meant trouble.
Duncan couldn't respond in time to the two flashbang grenades that sailed into the middle of the group. The two blasts of light were both blinding and deafening. He dropped his weapon and fell to his knees as his ears rang. He tried blinking away the stars that dappled his vision with little success. He forced himself to look up at the figure sprinting towards them.
It was a single shimmer.
Zack, Rico and Yuri succumbed to headshots before they could so much as raise their rifles. While those three were still reeling he witnessed Hector, for all his size, knocked clean off his feet by an invisible rifle-butt to the stomach. He crashed back down to the ground and took a three-round burst to the gut.
Nova and the Staff emerged from behind two crates to fire full auto on the area before them. But the rounds did little except splatter off the empty space.
A three-round burst caught either trooper in the back. The two of them collapsed like paper folding in on itself.
Duncan stood alone then. He hesitated as the shimmer turned on him. The Spartan slowly started walking towards him, not even bothering to avoid his line of sight. But if there was one thing Duncan wasn't about to do it was backdown in front of his squad. He steeled himself and pulled the trigger.
The shimmer easily sidestepped behind a crate then leaped on top of it to shoot his leg out from under him. He fell to his knees yet aimed his carbine one last time right as his opponent leaped from the crate. The camouflage dissipated and he saw the SPI-wearer some several meters above him, silhouetted as an angel of death against the afternoon sun.
The Spartan swung his carbine across Duncan's helmet, sending him flying several meters. He slid to a stop at the edge of a docking isle, leaving him dazed. He could tell that the Spartan would've killed him outright with that blow were he wearing lesser armor.
He watched helplessly while the Spartan approached him with weapon raised. Two more Spartans seemed to materialize to his left and right.
The one to his right had a backpack held over one arm while the other arm leisurely aimed a carbine at him. His IFF tag identified him as 'Harris-B170'.
The one on his left had a sniper rifle onehanded. He looked more alert yet also relaxed. His IFF tag appeared next to him: 'Roland-B210'.
Duncan looked at the Spartan that had taken out Epsilon singlehandedly. There was an air about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on. His IFF tag ID'd him. When it did it struck the Helljumper as odd. Unlike the others this one lacked a name, only the identification number. It was the number of the armor he'd seen back onboard the Falkirk, the one that the Commander told him he wasn't supposed to see:
'B312'.
Three rounds caught Duncan in the ribs. He winced at the all too familiar pain. On the roster his name was marked off. He was equally surprised that not only was he the last of his squad but also the last of…everyone.
The one who'd shot him had done so from their handhold on the edge of the docking isle. It was Spartan B283. He looked at the others who stared at him with felt disapproval.
"What?" Jonah shrugged. "He was fair game. You guys decided you wanted to gang up on him at the last second like some mob."
Roland sighed, shaking his head. "We were going to ask him a few questions. Now you ruined our chance to actually talk to him."
Jonah shrugged as he pulled himself up onto the esplanade. Then he did something Duncan hadn't expected: he thumbed his helmet-seal and pulled it off.
The Helljumper's eyes widened, so much so that they threatened the very limits of their sockets.
A cursory glance of Jonah showed a slight scar running diagonal across his nose, buzz-cut dark hair with lightening patterns etched across it. They zigzagged towards a pair of grayish-blue eyes that emanated with both cockiness and youthful vigor. Very youthful. Too youthful.
By his pale face alone Duncan could tell two things: that he'd already spent a long amount of time in his armor and that he was far too young to even be wearing it. Yet he was and firing a silenced sidearm with the precision of someone twice his age.
The Spartan couldn't have been much older than fourteen.
"Ah, I get it. You guys wanted to talk with him since he's one of the new faces around here." Jonah holstered his pistol and casually twirled Deaks' stolen tooth necklace around one finger. "Found this on one of them by the way, the sniper, don't have a clue why he was wearing it on his armor though. I took it while Roland was too busy getting shot."
"I told you I couldn't get a shot, J." Roland replied. "That last one was a bit smarter. He used the crane's higher elevation for a better view. I needed you on hand if things came down to it, and they did."
"Well, thinking out of the box didn't really do him much good, especially since I almost put him in one."
The third Spartan, Harris-B170 cleared his throat. "I know you're a bit on the mentally unbalanced end of the psych-spectrum but I doubt you'd actually break necks while the LC's watching."
"While the LC's watching." Jonah parroted in a sly tone. He rounded on Duncan and slowly crouched down next to him. He tapped his knuckles against his visor. "Hey guy, you still alive in there?" He pulled out a combat knife and held it against his neck seal. "If so, I can fix that for you. If you want me to finish you off, just don't say anything…"
The last Spartan, B312 stepped up, garnering Jonah's attention. "Leave him be."
Jonah glared back at him as he impatiently tapped his blade against his chin. "Why should I?"
"We're just here to put them down, not to put them under."
The helmetless Spartan smirked back at him. "You mean six feet under…right?"
B312 merely stared him down and he returned the look.
At length, Roland broke the deadlock by planting a hand on Jonah's shoulder. He shook his head at him. "Give it up, J. The LC's about to make the announcement. We'll head back to the gate and call it a day."
"…Fine." Jonah exhaled, getting back on his feet. He dropped the necklace on Duncan's lap. "Give that back to your pal for me."
The four Spartans of Team Zeta turned and walked off towards the gate. Their last victim watched them leave while leaving him with more questions than answers, the likes of which he was both afraid to ask and even more terrified to find out. But that couldn't stop him from asking himself the one at the very forefront of his mind: How old were these Spartans?
He barely heard the Lieutenant Commander's voice on the intercom over his own racing thoughts.
"Clearing operation is complete. The victory goes to Team Zeta."
Milites - Soldiers