Halo: Feet First

by MikeDice

Halo: Feet First covers the story of a team of UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers of the 7th Battalion, 105th Shock Troops Division. The main character, Duncan Iris, faces the full horror of the covenant war effort against humanity as well as the brave retaliation of outnumbered and outgunned UNSC forces. However, he also witnesses the turning of the tides as the war progresses.

124. Reconstruction - Chapter 15 (Sapientia)

Chapter 15 – Sapientia

January 22nd, 2552 - (04:50 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Csaba Mountain Region, Viery Territory

:********:

The morning air was a gift. Cool, clean and free of the noises that became more commonplace later in the day. The peace on Falchion's streets gave 1st Platoon a stress-free ride to the RTETC Building. After the events of the day prior, it was a relief for at least half of them.

Whiskey got a chance to settle in after Epsilon gave them the run-around of the Dante Building. A fresh meal, a good shower and great company helped them sleep off what to them must have felt like a near-death experience.

By the time they awoke for the morning muster, Nova was long gone. She told them she would be getting up earlier for some personal training at the RTETC. The rest of the group hopped into their Hogs and took the shortest route to the building.

The stadium-like RTETC itself, being among the largest at Falchion, made for an imposing sight that left Whiskey in awe as they climbed the steps. The inside was a different story. Its normal corridors, rec rooms and communications chambers could deceive the uninitiated into thinking the building was smaller than it was. Those parts of the structure hid away a dozen individual simulation chambers that were sufficiently equipped to be their own arenas. Duncan figured ancient Romans might've liked trying them out as coliseums, except these were far more advanced and environmentally versatile than anything they could have imagined. The chambers were networked together through a collection of elevators, stairwells and various forms of transportation that not even eight years of residency had helped Duncan fully map. Altogether, it was an above ground ant's nest, a big stage of tricks and secrets that would have made the Great Houdini blush.

The platoon's presence triggered the motion sensors needed to activate the ceiling lights. As they crossed the building's large foyer, they passed several displays on the walls. They showed a list of the top tier regulars of the battalion. Exposing which chambers, combat scenarios and difficulty levels were faced by practicing personnel tended to foster a competitive spirit. The guiding principle was that the old proverb of iron sharpening iron would hold true, so long as one iron could tease the other about being sharper. Epsilon would know. Duncan saw his squad's name in first place more than once. Today's goal was to get Whiskey on the scoreboard under 'SSST'. Small Scale Squad Tactics, colloquially called 'Triple-S', would be the the best way of gauging their capabilities.

They took an elevator a few floors down then proceeded along a hallway to the doors of the Triple-S. Nova was there waiting for them.

"We didn't keep you too long, did we?" The Staff asked.

"Oh no, it's fine. I got plenty of me-time in." She stepped towards the threshold, triggering the doors to slide open for them. "I turned everything on before you got here. We should be free to run the test right away."

The crew ambled through the doors into a spacious observation room. Console stations on the far side were placed against an expansive window that offered a good view of the space beyond. Duncan came over and took an eyeful of the scene below.

The arena was a substantial environment. Transplanted trees arose from the gravel ground in imitation of a forest. Scattered around the forest were multiple recreations of items troopers could expect to encounter on a semi-urban battlefield; barricades, damaged vehicles, and sandbag positions. Several polycrete buildings were set about the area to break up the minutia. The largest cluster of three were joined together into a compound near the middle of the arena. All things considered, it could have passed for a developed campsite, a small town or part of a national park. It could have were it not for the overhead lights and the high walls that boxed in the arena from top to bottom.

"Since when did Hotel beat us on this?" Rico asked.

Duncan looked to the scoreboard mounted near the room's ceiling. He spotted the rankings. Somehow Squad Epsilon was below Hotel. The latter had taken first place here the day before. He eyed their time: '2:21', a 30 second difference from Epsilon's.

"Hotel-1 must've made everyone put in the work while we weren't looking." Mito surmised.

"No, they hacked that." Duncan said. "I refuse to believe that's what they actually did."

"Which gives Whiskey here an aim above the one we brought them here for." The Staff concluded and turned to address them. "Here is where you'll be training today. The Small-Scale Squad Tactics scenario is exactly what it sounds like." He pointed to the arena. "What I want is to test your squad, to see your ability to cooperate in a dynamic environment. Here's the foreplay. You're performing an HEV-insertion on the edge of a city under siege. Forces in the city are in disarray and need a proper exfiltration point. Your job is to seize this site in order to provide a position for friendly forces to rally and evacuate the remaining civilian populace. That limits your priorities to eliminating the enemy garrison stationed at this site and preparing it for immediate use by UNSC Air Forces. Truthfully, those two objectives go hand in hand. You'll land and you'll kill. You'll be using TTR rounds and training BDUs from the armory upstairs. You've got 10 minutes to get your gear then head to the pods. Nova will take you. Any questions?"

Mackley raised a hand. "What's our time limit for this exercise, sir?"

"The average time is ten minutes."

Mackley was taken aback. He pointed to the scoreboard. "Sir, that top spot you were talking about says those guys got it done in two minutes."

"And the one below that is you guys, right?" Daz said, sounding just as confused "That's almost three minutes. This shouldn't take ten, sir."

In the moderate light of the room Duncan witnessed a faintly malicious grin etch itself on the Staff's face.

"I can see the scoreboard too. Believe me, that's for top performers. You're not there yet. We want to see you do the 'perform' part first. After that, I'm hoping we can make your next objective to beat our record and especially Hotel's."

Duncan deduced the Staff's purpose in that. How better to knock the confidence out of a competitor like Hotel than to have their time beaten by a squad they've never heard of. Iron would sharpen iron indeed.

"Sounds good, sir." Dalton said. "We can get set in five minutes if we speed up."

"Just show us the gear and we'll give the Covies something to fear." Lang winked. "And hey, don't sleep on us. Who knows, we might surprise you in there."

"Might." The Staff admitted. "For now, let's get you rolling. Nova?"

Nova nodded back to the doors and Whiskey followed her out. Duncan took note that they didn't ask a few important questions. How big is the hostile force? What type of weapons can we use? Can we use explosives? He believed that last question would have come from Reznik, the squad's explosive ordnance expert. However, the guy was too busy trying not to make it obvious that he was checking out Nova and Renni to ask questions. There was a good chance that would come back to haunt them. He returned to the viewing window and stood there, ready for the ceiling to open and the pods to come down.

Yuri and Hector came beside him.

"I bet 30 credits they get pinned down in the first five minutes." Hector said.

"Try higher." Yuri answered. "I put 50 on them getting wiped out in the first three."

"I'll take that bet." Duncan said. "They might get pinned but they're not getting annihilated."

"Oh, and why not? They don't know what they're running into."

"No but at least one of them does."

"You're gambling on Dalton?" Hector asked.

"Yup. For as long as I've known the old man, he's been able to hold his own. He can hold everyone else's too. He'll be fine. Everyone else, well, we'll just have to see."

"You're missing big picture. He is 'old man', yes? I'm counting on his bad back and slipped discs. He'll fall early and I'll get to charge interest on both of you."

Duncan called to mind everything he remembered the head instructor did for and to Class 207. It made him smirk. "Like I said," He patted Yuri kiddingly on the back. "I'll take that bet."

:********:

Dalton had a stable mental picture of the battlefield. It was divided into three distinct zones: A, B and C.

A was a sizable vehicle depot. It was the same compound they espied that stood on a small hill at the center of the arena.

B was a gas station located closer to the arena's southwestern corner.

C was a rest stop for truckers, complete with a concrete lot full of abandoned flatbeds, a convincing replica of a Jim Dandy's diner and a resting facility in the middle. It was the second largest spot after A's vehicle depot and occupied the southeastern corner.

The arrangement was a mimicry of trucker's havens common to the outskirts of major cities. The site made tactical sense as a rendezvous point in the possibility of an urban invasion.

He surveyed the map in his head. There were a few roads in the area that he used to guide an imagined assault. Covenant forces were probably divided across the zones. A's high rooftops were the perfect observation position. He anticipated Jackal sniper teams to be there. C's mildly congested lot would be perfect for hostiles that specialized in mid to close-range combat. The wide-open spaces combined with the occasional flatbed for cover would make it the perfect haunt for Elites and Hunter pairs. B's gas station and its explosive dangers would turn it into a prime target for Grunt suicide squads. The trick would be eliminating the enemy while mitigating as much infrastructural damage as possible.

Dalton calculated for environmental factors and time constraints to organize a suitable strategy. Whiskey would hit B first. They would use its proximity to neutralize the hostile overwatch on A's western side. From there, they would take C and use the position to clean up the holdouts on A's eastern side.

He finished their briefing around the armory's tactical planner. They were fully equipped with the right gear and the right attitude to get the job done. Mackley and Daz in particular were at peace. So long as he was between them of course. How better to keep angry cubs apart than with a papa bear that could easily put both in their place?

With everyone clear on the details, he led them to the handful of car-sized ejection tubes that extended from ceiling to floor. Inside of each was a drop pod. These were the real deals except that their control systems were changed to simulate a long-distance drop. In reality they would barely fall 30 meters to the arena.

The squad secured themselves in their pods and got them operational. Dalton made sure everyone was squared away before he got his hatch secured. The tubes rotated them all into place.

He switched on his comms. "Whiskey, are we green?"

The squad sounded off, letting him know they were ready.

"Alright, eyes front. I'm putting the timer on."

"You don't think they've got AA out here, do you?" Lang asked. "I don't know how they'd simulate a crash landing with these."

The launch timer appeared on their HUDs, starting from '5'.

"Guess we'll find out." Daz said.

The seconds counted off until the '1' disappeared, replaced by a jarring vibration outside the pods. Dalton was aware they weren't falling yet. Still, the ejection tubes' artificial movements captured the feel of getting shunted out of a ship. An animation on the window of Dalton's pod portrayed the squads' HEVs rocketing through a planet's atmosphere. His two displays showed him Mackley and Daz. They were sitting with their heads tucked in to avoid the usual whiplash from the drag chutes. So far so good.

At 5 kilometers to the surface, the last of the clouds faded and they were greeted to the spectacle of a great city. A voluminous collection of skyscrapers and human constructions were under attack by swarms of Covenant fighters. Plasma bursts, missile trails and explosions went off between the multitude of dogfights. From his experience with old Waypoint reports, Dalton found the location strikingly similar to if not directly inspired by Arcadia City. Already he was picking up on the psychological aspect of the training. Arcadia was one of those rare wins for the UNSC in the outer colonies. It was more mentally motivating to associate a win in the simulation with an actual victory in the field. The location avoided that sense of encroaching doom that tended to hang around places like Madrigal or Eridanus II.

Whiskey angled away from the city towards the dense forestry that encompassed it. They aimed for the small cluster of structures in the southeast. The pods' motion software detected the movement and the ejection tubes slanted accordingly.

At 100 meters to impact, the tubes began rumbling harder. Dalton felt the launch hatches opening beneath him.

They reached 50 meters and activated their drag chutes. The metallic flower petals shot out into the ejection tubes a split-second before they reached the 30-meter mark. Controlled airbursts blew the pods out of the tubes and into the arena.

The animation on the window vanished, replaced by the sight of the ground hurtling towards them. They passed over Zone B towards a small clearing just south of it. Their braking rockets engaged and the final rattling impact followed.

Dalton pulled out his MA37 assault rifle from the weapon rack. He punched the explosive bolts, popped the hatch and leapt out into the clearing. He crouched and swept the tree-line in the direction of Zone B. No signs of movement appeared between the pines but rather from his left and right as the squad regrouped at his pod.

He sighted the roof of the gas station and planted a Nav point. Without a word, Whiskey was on the move. Dalton took point. He led them into the thin layer of trees between the clearing and the station's edge. The spot afforded them slightly higher elevation, meaning they'd be shooting down on anything close. They crouched into the underbrush and assessed their first objective.

The station had several gas pumps setup in front of a basic convenience store. Two dozen Grunts moved lazily between them. More accurately, two dozen cutout frames that had the pictures of Grunts printed onto them. The gyroscopic wheels on which they were mounted helped them move. Their systems copied the movement profiles of their species so that most of the bots either clustered together or ambled to-and-fro. The majority were turned away from Whiskey so that no one could see what they were doing.

Next, Dalton looked north to the depot at Zone A and upped his visor's magnification. As he'd surmised, there were four Jackal bots patrolling the rooftop of the southwestern building. He could hardly make out those on the southeastern building but he could tell they were there.

He checked in on Whiskey.

Mackley and Lang had their SRS-99s held at knee-height.

"Whiskey-1 to 3 and 4, do you have A's southwestern side?"

"All set, sir." Mackley said.

"Say the word and its lights out for these birds." Lang said.

Dalton turned to Daz and Berlin who were setup between the two snipers. Both of them nodded. He checked in on the last member.

Reznik was crab walking along the line. Reaching out, he planted a single asteroidea anti-personnel mine, his favorite, in front of each person. He used a screwing motion to dig them deep into the gravel then tapped their pressure triggers, activating them with a muted beep. Once he was done, he gave Dalton the thumbs-up and retreated beside Mackley.

"Alright Whiskey, we're golden." He said and set his optics on the closest cluster of Grunts. He eyed the mission timer in the corner of his HUD: '0:45'. "We're over 40 seconds in, people. Whiskey-3 and 4, take the shot."

His order was met with two echoing CRACKs. Another two seconded them, letting Dalton know that the southwestern Jackal team was neutralized. He pulled the trigger and sprayed the closest trio of Grunts. Whiskey followed suit, picking out Grunt clusters and drilling into them while Mackley and Lang targeted the loners. The TTR rounds splashed across the bots' surfaces and made their green status lights deactivate.

A third of the enemy's number fell before there was a reaction. Like a disturbed hornet's nest, the remaining Grunts wheeled around and exposed themselves. A worrying amount carrying plasma grenades scurried towards them. Their mics released the suicidal screams that triggered one-too-many of Dalton's old memories. Others lingered behind, returning fire with TTR rounds from their gun ports.

"Fall back." Dalton ordered.

Having the hardest equipment to maneuver, Mackley and Lang headed to the clearing first in a phased retreat. Berlin and Daz went next while Dalton and Reznik covered them. As the Grunts advanced, the last two also fell back.

They repositioned behind their pods and listened to the approaching shouts. The first of the Grunts appeared. They surged forward and almost immediately vanished within several consecutive explosions of red polymer. The successive blasts shook the trees, and as the smoke cleared, a shower of leaves fell upon the mangled remains of a dozen suicide Grunts.

"Move up."

The squad dashed back out of the clearing. The gas station was now occupied by a sparse few. The stragglers that remained were systematically cut down as Whiskey fanned out across the grounds.

Dalton stuck close to the store. With Daz right behind him, he kicked in the door and sidestepped through the entrance. The two of them guarded each other's backs as they walked down the aisles of snacks and supplies, scanning for signs of survivors.

Dalton stopped at the third aisle, locked 'eyes' with a particularly tall bot and threw himself behind the closest shelf. Daz got down behind an adjacent shelf just as bursts of fire lashed out at them. The Elite minor on the other end of the aisle had managed to stay so still that Dalton hadn't notice it until he was right in front of it.

"Got an Elite in the store." Dalton comm'd and took out a frag grenade. "Whiskey-2, draw him to you."

"On it." Daz peeked out from her shelf and started putting three-round bursts on her target. The Elite's fire redirected to her, freeing Dalton to pull the pin and lob his grenade. The frag arced down the aisle, struck the floor and bounced up into the Elite's face. The detonation baptized the alien in a thick spray of polymer. The status light on its frame switched off then back on, signaling that its shields were down. It roared with rage and charged at them. Dalton and Daz wheeled out and released a full-auto barrage into its midsection. The onslaught knocked the Elite on its back, snuffing out its light for good.

"Elite's down." Dalton reported. "We're clearing the rest of the store. How's it looking outside, Whiskey-5?"

"Me and 6 have the rest of the station locked down, sir." Reznik said. "3's keeping an eye on the last buzzards at Zone A, says they're bunkering down on the southeastern side. They might be waiting for us to move to a better spot for them to pin us down. Also be advised, 4's reconning the road ahead."

"This is 4, I'm calling all clear for the road to C. I'm heading for my overwatch position now, waiting for 3 and the rest of you to catch up."

"How about it, sir?" Mackley asked. "Can we move?"

Dalton waited until they'd scanned through the last aisle before he gave an answer. "Okay, the store's clean. Let's go."

Dalton and Daz slapped new magazines into their rifles as they exited the store. They rallied with Reznik, Berlin and Mackley at the station's sign then sallied out onto the road leading to C. The way was advantageous in that a host of abandoned cars were left on it, acting as the perfect cover against anything lying ahead. At the same time, it was guarded by tall oaks on the side that faced Zone A, meaning the Jackals wouldn't be able to spot them.

Dalton checked in on the timer: '2:45'.

A flash of movement drew his attention to a set of vehicles 30 meters up the road. He saw Lang dash between a pair of jeeps. The squad's scout ran off the road. He was beelining towards the largest oak tree in the area. His preplanned sniping post would give him the best spot from which to provide support fire at C. Dalton watched him vanish into the undergrowth then reemerge as he climbed the trunk. The sergeant ignored the image of a dexterous monkey that the private reminded him of. As one of the best climbers he had seen at Ravenport, he trusted Lang would be in place well before the rest of Whiskey.

The road curved gently out of sight in the direction of Zone C. The squad navigated it with extra caution, not wanting to run headlong into an ambush. After confirming the rest of the way was secure, they came within sight of their next objective.

The rest stop was twice the size of the station. The parking lot had plenty of room between the central resting facility and the diner. It made up for it with a handful of flatbed trucks around the lot. The crates on their backs made for good covering opportunities. Sizing up the opposition, Dalton knew they would need all the protection they could get.

A squad of Elites patrolled the lot. Thankfully they were scattered, making them decent prey for Mackley and Lang. He wasn't too sure with the Hunters though. A pair stalked the space between the diner and the rest facility. Like their real-world counterparts, the sizable juggernauts were guarding each other's backs. Their presence was a hazard but nothing a few well-placed grenades couldn't handle.

Nearly to the lot, Mackley left the lineup and ran into the trees bordering the area, headed for the last support position within the woods.

Dalton planted a Nav point behind an upcoming flatbed on the edge of the lot. Whiskey stopped and hunkered down behind its large wheels.

"Whiskey-1 to 3, are you in place?"

"Hold on," Mackley groaned. "Let me setup shop. And...good to go."

"Alright, 3 and 4, do you have a shot on the Jackals at A's southeast?"

"Ready." Lang said. "3?"

"Yeah." Mackley replied. "This'll be quick."

Dalton visited the timer again: '3:51'.

"It better be. Alright, 2, 5 and 6, get some grenades on those hunters. I'll throw first to draw their attention. You wait 'till they've got their weak-points exposed before you start throwing frags. Now 3 and 4, once you're done with those Jackals, I want you to herd the Elites behind the resting facility. Pin them there. We'll use the opening to flank them from that flatbed on the east side." He planted a Nav point on the vehicle. "Are we on the same page?"

The squad on the ground with him nodded.

"Just say the word, sir." Lang said.

"Copy that." Dalton skirted further along the flatbed and braced himself behind the rearmost wheel. He took out a grenade. He tossed it up and down like a ball as he examined the Hunters just an arm's throw away. "We've had a rough showing since we got here, Whiskey. Let's give Epsilon a taste of what we can do. Shoot."

Twin bolts of TTR fire flashed from the trees around the lot, thundering in the direction of Zone A. Two more echoed after them.

Dalton saw the Hunters and Elites come to a stop. He pulled the pin, tossed it at the two behemoths and dashed for the diner. He heard the grenade land with a clink and detonate with a WHAM. The multi-vocal growl of the Hunters was too realistic for his liking. So was the building whine of their assault cannons. On the edge of his periphery, he saw them turn to him. The gun ports on their cannons tracked him. They each unleashed a thick stream of distinctly green polymer that shot out with the speed of a high-pressure hose. He made it behind the Jim Dandy just in time for the sludge to splash against the wall. Good thing it wasn't real plasma, he realized, or a brick-and-mortar barrier like the diner would hardly have spared him.

He heard the squad hurling grenades. They bounced and exploded into the backs of the Hunters, eliciting groans of pain. The worst affected of the pair keeled over, its status light deactivating. The light on the second Hunter dimmed but remained stubbornly active. It rounded on Whiskey with its shield while it prepared to return the favor. Dalton peppered its side in an effort to finish it off. His concentrated bursts brought the beast to heel. Its light diminished and it toppled over.

"Hunter's down!" Berlin shouted.

More cracks of sniper fire sounded from the trees. The band of Elites to their north were alive with activity. Two were running towards the rear of the rest facility. A third had its status light disappear then reactivate in recognition of the shot it took. It fired wildly in Mackley's general direction. Another bolt from Lang hurled it to the ground beside the fourth and last Elite. Two down. Two more to go.

The last Elites reached the rear of the rest facility and returned fire from behind it.

With their quarry in place, Dalton pointed the squad to the flatbed on the east side. Daz, Reznik and Berlin ran after him. They maneuvered around the back of the diner and came behind the wheels of the next truck.

The last Elites were still too busy responding to far off targets to notice those coming in alongside them.

Dalton held up three fingers. He counted down. At one, the squad arose and poured a flood of polymer on the enemy. The closest Elite took the brunt of the attack. Receiving so many rounds at the same time caused its light to wink out, reactivate then deactivate again in an instant. It tumbled back while its partner, an orange-armored major, was left relatively unscathed. The major ran backwards at the speed of a typical Elite. It got off a burst that flew a few centimeters shy of Dalton's head. The follow-up was cut short by two sniper rounds that struck it simultaneously, each courtesy of one of Whiskey's guardian angels. It collapsed without further resistance.

Dalton saw the timer in his HUD come to a stop: '5:03'.

The victorious silence was broken by the Staff's voice on the PA system. "Congratulations, Whiskey. There's an exit to your south. Use it to come up to us. Let's talk."

"You heard him." Dalton said. "Let's get out of here."

The squad regrouped at the diner. Waiting a little longer for Lang and Mackley, they headed into the outskirts. A quick trip through the forest brought them to the far wall of the arena. An exit door opened for them and they came onto an elevator. A peaceful ride and a swift ascension later, they arrived at the observation room. Epsilon was waiting for them there. They entered to a pleasant reception. Their sister squad applauded them, although Yuri and Hector didn't seem happy to see them so soon. Duncan was the opposite. Dalton observed him passing a few expectant glances between the duo and wondered what was going on there.

Whiskey assembled in front of the Staff.

"A job well done, troopers." he said. "You did it in good time too, well above the average for most squads. I think you're well on your way."

An infectious smile passed among Whiskey's members and even Dalton felt their satisfaction. He refused to indulge in it himself, picking up on the fact that the Staff wasn't finished.

"However, I have this to say. You know how to coordinate yourselves when there's a good plan involved. You're squared away at following orders from your CO. That said, this can also be a potential weakness of yours. Whiskey 2 through 6, I noticed you have something of a reliance on 1. That's not a bad thing but I want to make sure you don't end up using him like a crutch. In the field, anything can happen. You might not always be able to rely on Sergeant Dalton's leadership to keep yourselves organized. Should that kind of leadership be removed in the field, should he be wounded or worse, it's a priority for you to be able to function coherently in his absence. Would you agree with that assessment, sergeant?"

Dalton couldn't find a flaw in his logic. It was a strong point. In his own time, he could remember what happened to teams that failed to adapt after losing a leader. He only wished the Staff's question hadn't hit so close to home for the others. Then again, he didn't know. "I agree, sir. What do you have in mind?"

"Whiskey will take the simulation again. This time you won't be with them. For the sake of the scenario, we'll say you died in the drop. That leaves your leadership responsibilities to your second in command."

They turned down the line to Daz. She was slowly coming to understand what the Staff was hinting at. From her face alone Dalton could tell she was about to turn down the offer.

"It's a great idea, sir." He said, stopping her. "Let's go for it."

Daz shook her head in an emphatic 'no' that went unheeded.

"Glad to see you're up for it, corporal." The Staff said. "Start making your preparations. We need to clean up the arena so you'll have about an hour. Get to it."

:********:

Mackley could see where things were going long before they got there.

Daz didn't have what it took to lead. It was a point he should've harped on while they were still in the observation room. Because of that, Whiskey was paying the price on their second drop.

The plan was a half-baked version of the sarge's original idea. Take B first, wipe out part of the Jackals at A then wash, rinse and repeat at C. Except very little about their second drop was a repeat of the first. Epsilon decided to change the general layout of the enemy bots...without telling them. Mackley had a feeling Dalton had a hand in that. Who would want to keep them on their toes more than the man who knew them best? And luckily for the sarge, he was nice and comfy in the observation room, free of the situation he probably created.

After landing, Whiskey ran to their first position at the edge of the clearing. Their vantage point gave them a good look at the Hunter pair and the team of Elites patrolling the gas station. For whatever reason, these were much more reactive than the Grunts that came before and already had their guns turned towards the squad.

The Hunters took turns pouring hell on the surrounding trees. One would let its cannon recharge while its partner opened up in the interim, creating a continuous rain of green polymer that washed through the trees. The canopy above the squad was soaked and already they were taking casualties. Some of the sludge had landed on Berlin's right shoulder which caused that part of his BDU to lock down, depriving him of the arm. He fought on regardless with his sidearm.

Mackley was more concerned with the Elites than the Hunters. Two of them were reinforcing the pair of behemoths. The other two were nowhere to be found. They lost track of them shortly after they made contact. Knowing their luck, the hinge-heads were likely trying to flank them.

Like Mackley thought before, there were two possibilities involved. Epsilon was controlling the bots directly or the AI systems themselves were just figuring them out that fast. Both could explain how they adapted so readily to Whiskey's tactics. Neither bode well for the squad. The situation was ultimately punishing them for not doing the same.

Adapt or die.

With that mantra in mind, he pulled out his sniper's second magazine, having spent the first on the Jackals. Those set on the depot's southwestern building were finished with. Whiskey finally had an opening.

He slammed the next magazine in, bracing himself against the impact of another shot from the plasma cannons. "Heads up, Whiskey-2! I'll need cover for me and 4! We're displacing to A to clear it out and use it to cover you guys from the north, you copy!?"

There was no answer beyond the stochastic return fire from Reznik and Berlin. He turned around, looking past Reznik to where Daz was further down the tree-line. She reloaded her rifle then stood out to drill a quarter of her magazine into the nearest Hunter.

"Whiskey-2, do you copy!?"

The Hunter growled and hosed her position, shaking the tree in front of her. "I heard you, 3! That's a negative! We're staying put until we deal with these guys!"

A successive stream from an assault cannon flew high over Mackley's head. It crashed into the canopy and showered down onto the forest floor. Lang was in the greatest danger. He rolled out from behind his tree, pivoted then rolled to another tree as polymer sprayed the ground behind him.

"Hey 2!?" Lang shouted. "Sorry to tell you this but it's looking like the other way around from here! A few more of these and we're finished! I say we move up, and if not all of us, let me and 3 get to higher ground!"

"Negative! We can't get you the support you need! If you take a hit out there we won't be able to pull you out!"

"I don't think you get it!" Mackley replied. "There's two Elites out there that we don't have a clue where they went! They're probably coming up behind us any second! We need to-"

"All the more reason to hold here and counter when they come! We don't need to run; we just need to take out the enemy!"

"Yeah, let's let them come to us!" Reznik said. "At this rate, we-"

A new cannon salvo spewed into their position, striking the tree right behind Berlin. The resulting backsplash caught him in the back. His pistol fell silent and he crumpled to the ground.

"Berly!" Reznik cried.

"Screw it!" Mackley growled. "4, let's roll!"

Mackley leapt out from the bushes and into the open. He sprinted for the road and heard Lang right on his heels.

The two Elites tracked them. Glancing shots struck the asphalt at their boots, nothing accurate enough to stop them from reaching the safety of the trees on the other side.

They bolted deep into the forest. Mackley planted a Nav point on the closest building at Zone A. Having neutralized the Jackals there, he was certain they wouldn't have any trouble on the way. They would eliminate the last of the buzzards then give the squad the support they needed.

He tried and failed to ignore the timer in his HUD: '4:55'.

His heart sank a bit. To be this far into the exercise without having made any gains was bad news. Worse news suddenly introduced themselves as several deranged screams rang out from all around. A pair of Grunts stepped out from the oaks a few meters ahead. To his horror, they were both wielding plasma grenades.

"4, lookou-"

An explosion erupted behind him. He heard Lang scream and found himself tumbling to the ground as something knocked him over. In the chaos he lost track of his rifle. He rolled out of his fall and recovered with sidearm raised. He searched for what had hit him.

There, a handbreadth away, was Lang. He lay flat on his face. His back was submerged in red polymer. He clawed at the earth with a hand before he fell still.

Mackley hesitated.

Three more Grunts leapt out from nearby trees. He pulled himself together enough to pop the first Grunt in the eye, throwing it harmlessly to the ground. He scored four shots on the torso of the second which slowed it down. The third got within range of him and detonated.

The blast kicked him off the ground and into the bark of a pine, winding him. He collapsed to the ground. The explosion left him blinded by the polymer that caked his visor and paralyzed by its anesthetic effects. The most he could do was sit and listen to the comms.

He heard Reznik dragging something, most likely Berlin.

"They're coming up behind us!" He shouted. "Whiskey-2, fall back to-"

Through ragged breaths Daz replied, "I'm coming! Hold on, I'll-...AGH!"

The comms fell silent.

The timer stopped at '5:12'.

The Staff's voice rose over the PA. "Well, that was something. Hold tight Whiskey. We're coming to get you guys on your feet."

Mackley exhaled his frustrations. A full minute passed before he heard footsteps. There was the distinct hum of a TTR baton switching on. Something sizzled and popped like food in a microwave.

"Thanks for that." Lang said, cracking his neck. "Hold on Mack, we're coming."

The steps drew closer. Soon Mackley felt hands picking him up and propping him against the pine. There was that same sound from the baton. He watched the polymer on his visor evaporate as the device was waved over his body. The restrictions of his joints and limbs loosened, his visor cleared and he looked into the face of his savior.

Epsilon's redheaded engineer was the one he had to thank. She inspected his BDU. Satisfied, she gave him a hand and hoisted him to his feet. "I didn't hear a thank you."

"Thanks." Mackley sighed.

Lang was standing beside him, cleaned of the blast residue that took him down. "Enjoyed the nap?"

"Yup, this right here, best pillow I ever had." Mackley patted the pine. "Feels like it almost broke my ribs. So what now?"

"You guys failed the exercise." Nova explained. "The Staff wants to go over what you did wrong. Follow me."

She started back towards Zone B. Lang followed, picking up both of the lost SRS-99s along the way. Mackley joined them reluctantly, not excited for his daily chewing out.

They marched out of the forest and came to the road that ran from the gas station to the rest stop. The Staff was already waiting for them there. So was the Sarge and the rest of Whiskey. Daz had her helmet off, leaving little to the imagination of how angry she was.

The group gathered together and Daz was the first to give him a piece of her mind. "You can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" Mackley replied. "Taking action? Is that it?"

Daz shook her head. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

"And you need a mirror. At least I'm trying to get us somewhere. You just froze up."

"Listen, Mack. We lost because you and Lang decided to go off on your own. We got shot in the back."

"Like I said you would. Let me guess, those Elites I told you about showed up, didn't they? That's why I said we needed to move. But no, you wanted to stay put and let them come to you. Well, they came. How'd that work out for you?"

"I could ask you the same thing. At least we lasted longer. You two went off and got blown sky-high, we heard it from here."

"You-"

"You two, knock it off." Dalton interjected. "We need to unwind this thing and figure out what went wrong from start to finish."

"Isn't it obvious, sir?" Daz jabbed an accusatory finger at her squadmate. "Mack doesn't know how to follow basic orders when it's not coming from someone like you."

"That's not true." Mackley protested. "I only follow orders if I'm sure they're not trash. What you tried back there, sorry to break it to you but it didn't past the test."

"You almost have to kick him just to get him to listen."

"Alright, kick me. Try it. Either I'll listen to you or you'll end up on the floor. Let's see what happens."

The Staff stepped in. "Whiskey, calm down. I can tell you're a little uneasy about this-"

"How about a reality check?" Daz hissed. "You want to know the reason we lost the captain, Mack? Why we lost Whiskey-7?"

Mackley stiffened. He felt the conversation shifting to the last place he wanted it to go. The rest of the squad were taken aback but Daz stood her ground.

"Don't." Mackley insisted. "Don't go there."

"You want to know why McCallum's not here, or Dreyer?"

"Don't."

"That," Daz pointed at him. "That right there is why. You think you've got better ideas than everybody. You can't listen to others to save your own life...or someone else's. That's why."

There was silence for a while. Mackley sensed all eyes on him. Even the Staff and Nova seemed surprised. For a moment, Whiskey's best shot wondered what would happen if someone took a TTR round to the head without a helmet. He squelched the thought and stifled the rage bubbling within.

He turned to the Staff. "You wanted to tell us something, sir? Now's a good time."

The Staff looked between him and Daz, lingered on the sarge and spoke his mind. "We can't discuss this thing if you two are at each other's throats, yet alone working in a team. I'll tell you what I think then I want you separated. I'll let you cool down for a bit before we continue."

The Staff nodded to the deactivated bots around the station. "Your first mistake was trying the same plan twice. Just because an environment is the same does not mean that you'll face the same circumstances. I expected you to change the way you operated or the bots would get on your case if you didn't. You chose the stick over the carrot back there. That was one reason why you failed. That, Corporal Dasznow, I lay at your feet."

Mackley saw his wannabe squad-leader sag under the rebuke. The sight of it made him smile.

"The second reason is that you, Private Mackley, decided to go off with Langhorst on a side-mission of your own."

Mackley's good feelings dissipated. Daz turned his way and he detected a hint of vengeance in her glare.

"That escapade towards A left Whiskey, which was already depleted of manpower, with an even bigger handicap. Your departure left them open to flanking action from the rear. At the same time, you were trying to reposition to cover them without thinking of how a change in environment would require a change in weaponry. Neither you nor Langhorst were thinking far enough ahead. Those rifles of yours are powerful when you're handling Elites and Brutes from a distance. That said, they're your worst nightmare if you come face to face with suicide Grunts. There's also the outcome of your strategy which failed to accomplish its goal. You never got to A. You never helped your squad. You never got close to achieving either."

The Staff stepped in between the heated pair.

"You're not big on new ideas, corporal. I'd go so far as to say you're afraid of them. But you, private? You've got some big ideas in that head of yours and not a lot of patience to think them through. You need some work, both of you. The rest of Whiskey has its kinks but I think we can deal with those for the most part if we deal with you two."

"There was another handicap here, sir." Mackley interrupted. "You took our sarge from us. That's like tying our right hand behind our backs." He gestured to Daz. "Putting her in his place was like cutting off the last free ones we had left."

The Staff glanced at Dalton whose death glare was leveled at the sniper, a silent warning to cut back on the backtalk. "Noted. We'll clean up here. I want to assess the squad separately. You'll be split into two fireteams. You'll start at that level then work your way back up. In the meantime, let's take a break."

The Staff left it at that and walked towards the exit on the far wall. Nova, Dalton and the squad came after him. In the midst of the walk, Mackley caught a scowl from the corporal which he returned with a mutual disdain.

:********:

Dalton watched Whiskey stroll out the exit of the observation room with Epsilon. The latter assured him they could take care of his crew while they went out for breakfast. He hoped so. All the while, he and the Staff would need to have a chat.

The tension from earlier was not lost on Epsilon's leader. He also hadn't missed Mackley and Daz's little exchange. Because of that, the Staff called him aside to talk.

The doors to the room shut and the two men were left alone.

The Staff crossed his arms. "So, call it intuition but something's telling me there's a lot going on between Daz and Mackley. Mind taking a minute to explain that?"

"Yessir. There's a lot there to unpack."

Dalton was grateful that they chose to remove everyone from the room. It made the subject easier to bring up. "Believe it or not, I'm not actually Whiskey's first squad leader. That title goes to someone else, an ODST by the name of McCallum."

"A captain?"

"Correct, sir." Dalton pulled all the details to mind into a cohesive story. "Six months ago, Whiskey was even greener than it is now. It also had more people. There was another guy named Private Dreyer with them. I never knew him personally but the stories they tell about him make him sound halfway decent."

"McCallum and Dreyer," The Staff contemplated the names. "Go on."

"In those days they were stationed on Luna. That was where they were first made into a squad within their reserve battalion. This was before I knew them. Back then, Captain McCallum took them under his wing as squad leader. I get the impression he wanted an idea of how capable they were. He trained them regularly along with the platoon they were attached to."

Dalton paused to remember the part of the story that proved the hardest for Whiskey to tell him. "There was this incident on Luna, during a training operation on the surface. Things went to hell faster than anyone saw coming. What ended up happening was a nightmare scenario that, with all my years of experience, well, I'm glad I never had to live through something like it myself. It's hard to believe that some rookies did."

The Staff held up a finger to stop him. He walked to the room's doors and tapped the lock switch. A short buzz of secondary locking mechanisms sounded off to secure them in place. The chance someone would accidentally interrupt them was minimized.

"Go on."

"They were conducting a company-wide combat simulation, an exoatmospheric insertion over Luna."

"Wait, what? Hold on, I'm no astronomer but I know the basic requirements for terraforming. A magnetic field, tectonic activity, the presence of water, oxygen and nitrogen. You need all of those just to get started. Earth's moon barely has any of that. It's not the kind of place where troopers would usually drop."

Dalton nodded grimly. "That's what made it so nightmarish. Luna's a barren rock with nothing to make it livable except the sealed habitats themselves. The company commander thought to use that to their advantage. He wanted to prepare them for the rare occasions where ODSTs would need to make a drop into a zero-oxygen, low-gravity environment."

"If he wanted to do that, why didn't he use a controlled habitat? That's safer."

Dalton shrugged. "I wanted to ask him that myself. I think he was betting on the real situation getting the best results out of his men. Not so for two of them. At the start of their drop, things were fine, at least for the first couple of minutes. Then Dreyer, Whiskey-7, experienced an explosive decompression in his pod. They found out later it was a breach in his HEV's silicon seal that went undetected. Though his BDU had enough of an air supply for him to reach the surface, the decompression caused a bad oxygen leak from his pod that just got worse and worse. It reached a point where it rotated the pod out of the orientation needed for him to properly deploy his drag chute. Essentially, he would smash straight into the ground if he didn't change course. The problem was that he couldn't do it himself."

"...I'm guessing this is where Mackley stepped in?" The Staff asked.

"That's right. However, by this stage, everyone in the company knew Dreyer was a dead man. He was screaming for help but no one thought they could do anything for him. Everyone except Mack. He refused to give up on him. Daz tried convincing him to leave Dreyer alone before he caused an even bigger problem. McCallum told him the same thing."

"He didn't listen, did he?"

With a slow shake of his head, Dalton continued, "He decided to maneuver in beside Dreyer's pod to try manually reorienting it the right way. If you have a hard time imagining it, think of a bumper car knocking into another to try changing its direction."

"I've never heard of a supersonic bumper car before." The Staff replied. "Doesn't sound like something with a happy ending."

Once again, Dalton shook his head. "He didn't care. McCallum even ordered him to back off. He refused. You see, him, Lang and Dreyer had graduated together from Ravenport. They were buds there, part of the same fireteam too. He wasn't doing this for somebody he hardly knew."

"I see...so did it work?"

"Hardly. It almost got both of them killed. The repeated contact between their pods was made riskier by a bumpy reentry and only increased the rate of the decompression. It went off all at once. Apparently, according to Berlin, it looked like what happens when you pop a balloon. Dreyer's pod didn't pop per say but the pressurized air that got released sent his HEV rocketing into another. By some awful chance, it ended up being the captain's."

Dalton saw the dots being connected in the Staff's mind. "Looks like you've pieced it together. Want me to leave it at that?"

"No, let's hear it."

"Well, the impact was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it reoriented Dreyer's pod so that he could deploy his chute again. On the other, it sent McCallum spiraling off course and put most of his thrusters out of commission. There was nothing to be done about it. The rest of the company and Mackley just had to watch while he struggled to get himself under control. He did in the end, for all the good it did him. Really, it would have been better for him if he'd died before that."

"And the end result?"

"The company landed a kilometer outside of Crisium city. Dreyer managed to make the landing but not before he got parboiled on the way down. With so many breaches in that seal, he got roasted. He survived albeit with third degree burns over most of his body. Considering what happened, he was lucky to get away with even that much."

"If you could call that lucky."

"Fair enough, which is more than I can say for McCallum. He didn't make the LZ. Search parties found him an hour later in his pod six kilometers away." Dalton stopped to let the facts speak for themselves. The standard drop pod had an oxygen supply of 20 minutes. An ODST BDU came with a personal air supply of 15. That left the captain with at least a full 25 minutes without air.

Mildly sullen, the Staff pondered the agony of that kind of fate. "Did they manage to resuscitate him?"

"...No. He was pronounced dead on the scene. They recovered him and shipped him to his family on Earth."

"And Dreyer?"

"Medical discharge. You don't get cooked that bad and get to stay in the service."

"Right. You come in after this?"

"A month later, yeah. I'd left Ravenport by then so I was called in to be McCallum's replacement for Whiskey-1. If it weren't for that incident, I'd probably have gotten assigned elsewhere."

"And the squad blames Mackley for what happened?"

Dalton shrugged. "It's mixed. Daz definitely blames him. That's what you saw back there. The others are a little iffy on it. I think they believe he was trying to save a life but it just didn't end well. The courts definitely blame him though. Mackley was given a court-martial. However, he only received a few months' probation after the judiciaries declared it an accident."

"I imagine the UNSC not wanting to lose more manpower played a part in that decision."

Dalton smirked sardonically. "I don't doubt it either. Essentially, sir, you've got a new subordinate who's guilty of the involuntary manslaughter of his former superior as well as the survival and discharge of another squadmate. You've also got a subordinate who has a hard time being around him because of it. How do you want us to work through this?"

The Staff was deep in thought as he strolled off to the window of the observation room. Dalton joined him and waited for his solution.

"We'll have to keep those two apart since the problem is mainly between them," The Staff sighed. "They'll practice in three-man fireteams like I said. I want to assess their ability to lead on their own. Once I get an idea of how they'll work without each other, I can figure out how we can bring them together again."

"Sounds good. When do you want to practice with them next?"

The Staff contemplated it and perked up at his conclusion. "Let's get them back in here. We'll see what we can still do with today."

:********:

To say Nova was excited with her new duties would be to lie. Yet lie to herself she must. There was a job to be done and she was the one to do it. To that end, she pretended to be interested in training Mackley, Lang and Reznik rather than leaving to go about her day.

Fireteam tactics was a different beast than squad tactics. It required comparatively smaller arenas than SSST. Located closer to the center of the building, the Fireteam and Individualized Tactics or FIT arena was part of a handful of locations where a lone ODST could hone their skills. Its urban locale mimicked a small square in Arcadia City. More of a hexagon than a square, it came with six outlying apartment buildings, one on each side as well as a decorative fountain at the square's center. The grove of transplanted palm trees set around the sidewalks was a nice touch too.

Nova remembered when 1st Platoon used it to run hostage rescue scenarios. Populated areas like city squares were perfect targets for acts of Insurrectionist terror. In later years the FIT arena saw use as a stage for team versus team battles, a spot where a squad could test each other's metal and relieve some pressure along the way. The pressure Nova saw released earlier in the day was a lot like that. Nevertheless, Mackley was showing its downsides by sacrificing cohesive movements for pure nothingness.

His fireteam's opponents numbered six in all. A duo of Jackals manned the rooftops of the surrounding apartments and had stayed quiet for the first two minutes. A quartet of Elites occupied the square. Two were on foot and two rode along the street in Ghosts. Falchion's engineers had added stabilizing fins to the chassis of two Mongooses along with a pair of M247 machine guns mounted to their sides. Some purple painting and remodeling made them into convincing look-alikes. Though not as agile as the genuine articles, they were capable of wreaking the level of havoc that was pinning Reznik in place.

The lone ODST was stuck behind a line of concrete barriers on the far side of the arena. The line kept him sandwiched between an apartment and the square, the building at his back and the enemy at his front. Armed with an M319 grenade launcher, one of Rico's favorites, Nova couldn't help noticing the difference in how they used the same weapon. Rico preferred having some space between him and his target. By contrast, Reznik was taking a risk every time he leaned out to pop off a 40-millimeter. The grenades whistled into the street and bounced in front of the 'Ghosts' just five meters away. He was giving himself half of a second to release the trigger on each grenade. If he was only 10 milliseconds late then it would pass his target, 10 milliseconds too early and he could risk blowing himself up as well.

Typically, he was too late. From the observation room in the arena's far wall, Nova watched his third grenade arc past the Ghost on his left. It exchanged immediate cover fire in conjunction with its partner on the square's opposite side. They painted Reznik's cover a splotchy red.

Nova couldn't take it anymore and opened a direct communications link. "Whiskey-5, you're firing-"

"Call me Frank."

"Excuse me?"

"If it's all the same with you ma'am, you can use my name instead. I'm sort of a one-man show at the moment so I don't think you need to use my squad ID."

Nova paused, briefly taken aback. She tried again. "Listen, Whiskey-5, you're firing too close to your target. With that class of weapon, you need to-"

"I know what to do, ma'am. We've got a plan in play, no worries."

Nova arched a brow. Nothing she'd seen so far from the other two could make her think that, especially since they were yet to appear. "A plan?"

"Yes ma'am. Don't you like men with plans, because I've got one."

"Pardon?"

"How about this," He loaded a new grenade and snapped the weapon shut. "We hit up that diner by the Dante Building after all this is over, just you and me. Let's get to know each other better. What do you say?"

"...Are you trying to flirt with me, private?"

"Trying? No." Reznik popped out and shot at the closest Ghost. The grenade bounced low and detonated directly beneath its undercarriage, shutting the craft down in a show of sizzling sparks. He ducked before its partner could sight him. "Succeeding? Yes."

Nova laughed to herself at the ridiculousness of it all. She knew a little of Whiskey-5's history. Whether she wanted to be a part of it or not was out of the question. "Okay, Whiskey-5, you-"

"Frank." Reznik corrected as he reloaded.

"Frank, why don't you focus on what's in front of you before you get shot."

"I'm safe and secure back here, ma'am."

"I mean by me."

The ODST fell silent, seemed to reconsider his next words then blurted them out regardless. "You know, as a guy who's into older women, I don't think that's a bad thing. I'll let you shoot your shot then you'll let me shoot mine. Sounds like a deal?"

Nova grinned. "Sounds like you think I'm talking about TTRs when I'm not. Also, you lost me at 'older women'."

She cut off the communications link and took a moment to collect herself. A rookie hitting on her while training rounds are flying over his head was not the way she expected her day to go. Then again, he'd given her weird looks from the start. So long as he didn't try any funny business, she could live with it.

She turned on a new link to the two outliers. "Whiskey-3, where are you? You've got three minutes left in this exercise and I haven't seen any action from you or Whiskey-4."

"We're outmaneuvering those Jackals, ma'am." Mackley replied.

Nova noticed movement on one of the observation room's screens. There she saw an elevated view of an ODST. She presumed it was Mackley. He crouched over to the side of an apartment with a ladder that ran to the rooftop. He pulled himself up the lowest rungs, eventually passing the camera. She turned to the next screen where she saw Lang doing the same on another building.

She checked a third camera that offered a wide view of the arena from the standpoint of the rooftops. She got a decent idea where the two snipers were ascending to. She also gained insight into their goals.

Reznik was drawing the attention of the Elites. While he held them at the square, Mackley and Lang would flank around the Jackals, drop them first then use the roofs to get a vantage point over the Ghosts. The last two Elites would be easy pickings from there.

It might have worked too had they not misjudged the location of one of the Jackals.

On his feed, Nova saw Lang jerk at the TTR round that flashed into his chest. The shot came from the window of a neighboring apartment, from the Jackal hiding there. Lang's grip loosened. He would have fallen 15 meters to a medical discharge had he not resecured his grasp. He swung his boots out around the ladder and slid down its height. Upon reaching the ground, he collapsed onto his back. There he stayed.

"Whiskey-3, I'm hit." He groaned over comms.

"What!?"

"I got it wrong, that roadkill must've switched to the other building before I got here. I'm out."

Nova heard a frustrated snarl from Mackley as he carried on to his own target.

"Whiskey-3?" She called.

"I got it." He hissed back.

Through the viewing window, Nova watched him crawl onto the roof of an apartment. The second Jackal was watching the streets at the other side of the roof, searching for an opening on Reznik. Mackley pulled out his rifle, aimed and put a hole through the back of its head. He maneuvered to the side of the fallen bot. Kicking it out of his way, he setup his bipod on the edge of the roof. He scanned the other apartments. Finding nothing, he looked down to the square.

Two of the Elites were staring right at him. He ducked back before a burst of ballistic paint peppered his position. "Hey 5, you still there?"

"Can't go anywhere else. I heard 4's down. What's the plan now?"

"I'll try to handle the Ghosts for you. See if you can't put a grenade between those two by the fountain."

"Copy."

Nova saw Reznik attempt to raise his launcher over the barrier. The Ghosts swiftly put an end to his attempt with a renewed barrage. He got back down after taking one to the shoulder. "Agh! That's a negative, Whiskey-3. I'm stuck here."

The two Ghosts chose that moment to close in. Reznik heard them coming. He aimed his launcher one-handed at the building behind him. He fired at an angle, causing the grenade to bounce off the second floor of the apartment. It whistled as it landed out in front of his barrier. The move stopped the Ghosts' advance, their combat programming warning them against getting closer.

Not bad, Nova thought.

"Best I can do is stop them from finishing me off." He said. "At this rate, it's all on you, 3."

Before Mackley could answer, one of the Elites shooting at him changed focus. It rushed out from the fountain to the edge of the square. A special ejection port opened on its frame. A bright sphere flew out and arced over Reznik's cover, landing between his boots.

He would have had a split-second to recognize the baseball-sized object as a fraud of a plasma grenade. A fraud, not a dud.

The ensuing explosion tossed his launcher into the air. The grenade in front of the barrier also detonated, coating both sides of it with polymer. The launcher landed in the middle of the red muck; its owner neutralized.

Nova questioned why the bots hadn't decided to use that maneuver sooner. With Reznik smoked out, she set her sights on Mackley. So did the rest of the Covenant. The Ghosts turned around to put additional pressure on him. He faced an inverted rainfall of suppression fire that showed no signs of slacking.

"Whiskey-3, this is Nova. What's your next move?"

Mackley held his head down after a close call grazed his helmet. "I'm thinking."

Nova looked to the countdown timer in the observation room: '0:53'. "You don't have much time left. Unless you think you can pull off a miracle, I suggest you reposition."

"What're you talking about? This is the best position I can get. I leave here, I'm useless."

"You're useless now."

To prove a point, Mackley took a random shot at the ground at the expense of nearly getting hit. "See?"

"Stop playing around. Look, I'm already not supposed to give you suggestions. This is supposed to be your op. Now it's gone sideways and here I am trying to help you. Take the hint."

"No thanks, I can figure it out." The fire on his position heated up as the Ghosts switched from burst fire to a continuous assault, repainting the top of the building.

"Whiskey-3, you're doing the same thing you criticized 2 for. Stop being a hypocrite, take your own advice and displace."

"You got somewhere to be, specialist?"

Nova winced. "What?"

"'Cause I don't. I can stay here all day."

Nova detected the rising ire in his tone as well as her own. She checked the timer again: '0:31'. It couldn't be helped. If the Staff wasn't letting up on these guys then he wouldn't be letting up on her until she did the same.

"You honestly can't. You've got less than 30 seconds on the clock."

"Hey, didn't you say this was my op? And you're saying I only have 30 seconds? That's not enough time to reposition so leave me be." Mackley rolled to the opposite end of the building, staying low to avoid detection. He arose, aimed at an Elite and scored a hit...on the ground at its feet. It side-stepped away while the rest of the bots hosed that part of the building, forcing Mackley back to cover.

"Hey kid, guess what, I don't want to be here and you probably don't either. I really don't. But I know I'm going to end up here again if you fail. So, get over your preference, get on the ground and get to work!"

"Don't call me kid! I know what I'm-"

A TTR round too fast to be from below zipped into Mackley's shoulder, spinning him onto his stomach. He hugged the ground for dear life to avoid the wrath of the last Jackal.

Nova traced the fire to the same window that it used to take out Lang. She was already fuming. Seeing that made her lose it. "For God's sake, Deaks, get out of there!"

At that moment, the timer finished. A horn blared over the PA to signal the end of the exercise. The bots on the ground ceased firing. Their status lights dimmed and deactivated. The Jackal also went offline, leaving an eerie silence over the arena.

The quiet was broken by none other than Mackley. With a growl, he tossed his rifle off the roof. "I'm not him, alright!" He shouted. "Who do you think I am!? You think I'm that guy!?

Nova caught herself. She realized the name she'd actually said. A sickening feeling crept up on her.

Mackley got on his feet. He yanked off his helmet and turned to the observation room, to her. "I'm not him! I'm sorry to tell you but I'm not! I'm not the best shot or the best trooper the 105th has to offer! I'm sorry we couldn't give that to you, you got me instead! Your last guy was probably better than me! Hell, he probably still is! I thought it would work, okay!? I thought we'd pull it off, but-...but I-..."

Scouring for words that refused to come, Mackley ditched whatever else he had to say and sat down on the roof. He grabbed his head and squeezed it with enough intent to crack his own skull. He remained there, quiet and unmoving.

A wave of nausea washed over Nova. Too much was going on for her to dwell on it. "This exercise is over. Wait there, I'll come unfreeze you guys."

Nova reached for her TTR baton that she'd left on the main console. Her will failed her and her fingers fell short.

The truth that Mackley was a talented sniper wasn't lost on her. He had a lot of potential. Maybe with time he would be on par with the one he was replacing. Yet that was her main issue with him. She saw as clear as day why she'd gotten angry. The kid was talented, sure, but so was Deaks for all the good it did him.

Mackley still had a lot to learn and not a lot of time to learn it. Talent was not sufficient to save lives, especially if he ever found himself on his own like he did. That image of the young private fighting alone with his rifle caused buried memories to resurge. She shut her eyes against the old emotions. They weren't as sharp as they had been those few weeks ago but they were still there.

The door behind her opened. She rounded on the Staff as he came inside.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"Not good." The Staff exhaled. "Another loss. Daz still has a problem innovating. It's a challenge for her to go a minute without asking Dalton for advice. That's despite that she's calling the shots. Hopefully on a better note, how'd things go here?"

"They ran the clock." Nova pointed to Mackley. "He's the only survivor. I noticed something too. They like to use a member as bait while the rest outmaneuver the enemy."

"Yeah, Daz did the same thing." The Staff took an eyeful of the ODST sitting off to himself on the rooftop. "Dalton did that too. However, I think he has a better overall situational awareness than they do. They're trying to copy his success."

"I think they're intimidated by us."

The Staff scrutinized her. "What makes you think that?"

"...Just a feeling. Even though Dalton's no longer in command, they're still acting as if he is in order to try to keep stride with us. They don't like thinking for themselves if it means they'll look bad."

"No, it's more like they haven't needed to before now. Selection does that to you. I remember most of you weren't so different when you joined Epsilon. Time and experience just gave us enough room to forget we used to be in the same spot. What these guys need is a little compassion."

"Like a left hook to the jaw?"

"No, like a compassionate left hook to the jaw, not enough to break it but enough to let them know you could've if you wanted to. I'm not sure what that will look like in realistic terms but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

The Staff moved for the door.

"Reznik hit on me by the way." She said, mostly curious of what he might think.

The Staff stopped at the threshold and the doors parted for him. He turned to her and smiled knowingly. "Name a man in Bravo who hasn't."

Thinking it through, shrugged and laughed. "Fair enough. I guess I still got it."

The Staff pointed to the gray streaks of hair at his temples as he walked out. "Ask them how you look when you have these, then we'll see if you still got it."

Nova reached to shut off the control stations, ready to go free Mackley's fireteam from its paralysis.

Deaks.

The name came to mind of its own accord. It paralyzed her for a moment. She remembered how she accidentally called Mackley someone he wasn't. She cringed on the inside at unburying the thing she and the squad had purposefully sealed away after Ballast. They were done with that. She was done with that, wasn't she?

Except it came up in spite of that. Looking out the window at where Mackley was, she couldn't help seeing him on the top of an escarpment, hearing something behind him, maybe turning to see if it was her and Duncan then finding a Brute standing there instead. It made her skin crawl.

Nova forced herself out of the mire in her head. She switched off the consoles, grabbed the TTR baton and left the room as quickly as possible.

:********:

Mackley was not intimidated. He simply wasn't. Not by the bots, not by Epsilon, not by anything. That was the end of that and he committed himself to shutting out the day's events altogether.

He was happy to be free of the polymer. However, he refused to go to the mess hall for lunch like the rest of Whiskey. He wasn't hungry. He instead went off for a walk. Staying in the RTETC building, he wandered into its halls hoping to God that he could get himself lost. At least then he wouldn't have to endure a third training exercise. A third loss. A third beating.

He was without his armor. His bare skin was exposed to the air-conditioning. The soreness in his shoulder worsened. He was too used to the dull throb of the pain to think he needed help. He figured it would stop in an hour.

As he walked through a lounge outside another arena, someone called to him. "Oye, amigo, where're you going?"

He whirled around to see someone leaning out of an adjoining hallway. It was Rico, Epsilon's grenadier sporting a wide smile.

"Ugh, nowhere, I guess. Wherever my feet take me."

"Oh, you lost?"

"No."

"You trying to get lost?"

"...What do you want, man?"

Rico's smile widened. "Come with me. I need your help with something important."

"Like?"

"Like you'll find out when we get there. Come on." Rico left down the hallway.

Mildly interested and not being that busy to begin with, Mackley turned after him. They strolled along several passageways without a word. He was tempted to ask where they were going when they reached it.

Rico halted by a door with an actual handle. There was a sign above it labeled 'Target Maintenance'. He pulled the door open and nodded him inside.

"What's in there?" Mackley asked.

"Didn't you see the sign?"

"No, I mean what's in there that I can help you with? I'm not an engineer or tech specialist."

"You're a sniper, right? You've got an eye for details. A few things in here need close attention. Plus, somebody else told me they needed your help too."

Confused, Mackley peered inside.

The maintenance room was surprisingly massive. The single door that served as an entrance disguised the true vastness of the interior. There was a plethora of shelves on the walls each holding different variations of the bots he'd fought earlier. From Elite minors and Jackals to Skirmishers and Brute Chieftains, everything he could possibly want to shoot was here. Reaching the likes of a small library or an oversized repair shop, he found balconies, ladders, elevators and tool boxes in abundance. He stepped inside to the main floor which was occupied by a lineup of a dozen scissor lifts. He heard the sound of a power drill on the other side of a nearby lift.

Without warning, the door shut behind him. He ran over but heard the lock slide into place. He cursed himself for not seeing the ruse ahead of time. The guys at Epsilon were trying to pull a prank on him. Maybe another hazing too.

The harsh wail of the drill made him wary of whoever or whatever was waiting for him. He took tentative steps around the lift, hesitated halfway then forced himself to see who it was.

A trio of Jackal bots were assembled before an ODST who was crouched over a tool box. Mackley recognized the middlemost bot via the hole he'd made in its head. The other ODST dropped the drill into the box and pulled out a screwdriver. With it, he finished undoing the last two screws on the top of the middle bot. He carefully pulled out the battery housing from behind the status light and started undoing the last screws between him and the power cell.

"Why don't you take a seat." The trooper said. Without looking back, he pointed to a portable chair behind him. "You look like you could use a break."

The voice was familiar. Still, Mackley was too fresh to Falchion to pin it down. He strolled to the chair, never taking his eyes off the man.

"I was doing just that." Mackley replied as he took the seat. "Then the next thing I know, Rico comes in and tells me he needs help. Well, here I am locked in here with you. What do you need help with?"

From the chair Mackley got a better look at him. It was Epsilon's 8th member, Duncan. He pocketed the screws, pulled out the power cell from its housing and inspected it like a shotgun shell. "What do I need help with? Nothing."

Mackley wasn't having it. Thoroughly ticked off, he got up from the chair.

"Sit down."

The forceful tone of those simple words pushed him back into his seat. "What do you want? You said you don't need me so I figured I'm good to go."

Duncan pocketed the spent cell and pressed a new one into the housing. He spoke with the casualness of an artist working on a new piece. "Stay right there and listen. I want to talk to you because someone needs to. Might as well be me."

Mackley was thrown for a loop. Not sure what they had to talk about, he decided hearing him out was the best course of action. He didn't want any grief with even more people in Epsilon. He didn't feel the need to listen either. He simply needed to pretend that he was. "I'm all ears, pal."

Duncan worked the screws back into place, returning the housing to the top of the bot. "Where're you from?"

"Earth."

"City?"

"Why do you care?"

"I get the feeling we're from the same place. I grew up in Chicago myself."

Mackley went wide-eyed. "No way, which side?"

"I guess you are from there then. You have to be to ask that kind of question."

Mackley sat back, amazed at how quickly he'd been caught. Typically, ODSTs from the colonies were only familiar with a planet's name. The individual sovereignties and territories on the surface were typically harder to pin down, not to mention cities and parts of those cities. That was local knowledge. Despite holding him hostage, Duncan's awareness was making him giddy. For the first time since his graduation, he was meeting someone from the same city.

"I'm from the North side myself." Mackley answered. "You?"

He saw Duncan smile, an expression he himself started to share. "North side too, born and raised. What are the odds."

"They're low, that's for sure. Hey, you ever been to the gallery district?"

"Years ago, yeah. My mom used to take me whenever she went shopping. Why?"

Mackley perked up proudly. "My folks have an art gallery they run there. I basically grew up in it. If you go back, you should check it out. You'd love it. Finest stuff you've ever seen, I swear."

Duncan nodded and finished putting the last screw in place, securing the housing on the bot. He pressed a button on the side of the frame which caused the status light to switch on with renewed brightness. "Thanks for the advertisement. We'll see what happens." He pressed another button that caused the bot's styrofoam body to slide up and out of the rest of the metal frame. He grabbed a new cutout laid against the wall and slipped it into place, replacing the downed Jackal with a new one.

Duncan stepped back to survey his handiwork. "You went to Ravenport, right?"

"Yup. I heard you did too. By the way, I think you would know, was Mahoney always as moody as he is? I'd like to think a guy like that wasn't always snapping people's necks for fun."

"Mahoney?" Duncan laughed. "Good to hear he's still kicking. No, he's always been like that. Probably always will be too."

"Ah, well that sucks."

"Actually, that's not the only thing that sucks here." Duncan grabbed the bot and hoisted it atop the scissor lift behind him. He returned to the next bot and whipped out the power drill to repeat the task. "Why're you giving our head drill instructor so much grief?"

"What do you mean 'grief'?"

"You and Daz, it's not lost on any of us that you've got a problem."

The friendliness from earlier died away. Mackley shut his mouth. Fists tightening, he got on his feet again. Duncan stopped him before he could take a single step, aiming the drill's fast-rotating head right at his chest. He didn't have to say a word. The whine of the drill and his adamant stare spoke for him. Mackley sat back down slowly.

"You see these bots here? They need to have regular changeouts of their power cells since so many people use them. It puts a strain on their operating system. Whoever uses them last is typically responsible for making sure the ones that aren't blown up are ready for the next users." Duncan got to work extracting the next power cell with one hand, massaging his shoulder with the other. "They're a lot like soldiers that way. Now with me, I'm tired of having to resupply all the bots you guys keep sending me after your training. There are other things I want to get done today but I can't leave until Whiskey's finished or the Staff believes you are. I heard about what happened in your last simulation. Now's a good time as any to bring this up."

"You sound like your friend, Nova."

"Did you listen to her?"

"No."

"Good. Then you've got enough space in that head of yours to remember what I'm about to tell you. That tension between you and Daz is going to get somebody killed, that is if we don't deal with it while we're still at Falchion."

"Killed?" Mackley scowled. "Hey man, I'm not trying to kill anyone here except the Covenant."

"You are." Duncan asserted as he slipped the new batteries in. "And you're doing a good job of setting the foundation for it, whether you're aware of it or not."

Mackley sighed explosively. "So what am I doing wrong then? It's obviously irritating you people so you might as well say what it is."

Duncan returned the housing to the bot, tested the light then planted it on the scissor lift. He turned to Mackley, hands on hips. "I don't know you that well. We both only learned each other existed just yesterday. But I don't need to know you for long to see your main issue. You're mistaking confidence for competence. You keep acting like you know what you're doing when you really don't. It showed when you tried to leave Daz behind and got everyone shot. It showed again when you let a guy on your team get pinned down on his own for a whole four minutes. Last I checked, Whiskey-4 and 5 were neutralized in that exercise."

"I knew what I was doing." Mackley grumbled.

"And did it work?"

The question shut the mouth of Whiskey's best sniper.

"Listen, we can't have you running out on us in the field using tactics that fail repeatedly. You can get plenty of people killed if you go out on your own, even if you think it's doing some good. That's how we lost one of our guys earlier this month. The only difference between him and you is that he was trying to distract the enemy away from a comrade, not using them as a sacrifice. I don't plan on seeing a loss like that again, especially the kind that might cause somebody else to punch their ticket. I need you to shape up and fast. If you start running off and become a liability on a real operation, I'll deal with you myself. Are we clear on that?"

Mackley heard the threat loud and clear. He peeped at the drill in his hand and felt the urge to get some distance. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat. "Crystal."

"Good." Duncan returned to the third bot and began to work.

Mackley realized his mouth was dry. He licked his lips and croaked out a reply. "I'm trying to do my best here, man. This is the frontlines. You guys are looking for elite people to join your platoon, right? Top performers?"

"Sure." Duncan said. "But before we're looking for top performers, we're looking for people who can recognize when they're wrong and not run from it."

Mackley said nothing else for a while. He listened to the sound of the drill removing the last housing. He sensed a new question circling in the back of his mind, and before he was aware of it, it was leaving his mouth. "Have you ever killed someone before?"

It sounded stupid after he'd heard it out loud. To his shock, Duncan actually bothered to answer.

"I have."

"P-, people? Have you ever killed people?"

"Yes."

The question reformed in Mackley's head so that he could dare to ask it in its truest sense. "Have you ever killed...a comrade before?"

The drilling ceased.

For several seconds, Duncan didn't move. He slowly turned to face him, bearing a look that Mackley could only think of as conflicted. He passed through some unspoken contention and nodded grimly.

Mackley blinked, surprised. "You-, you have?" He glanced nervously at the drill.

"Not directly." Duncan clarified. "I wasn't the one that finally pulled the trigger. Feels like I did though. He threatened my wife and kid...I had to stop him."

"Was he a good friend?"

"...He was."

"Oh. Ugh...sorry."

Duncan sat on the floor and set his drill aside. "And you? What'd you do?"

Mackley was unready to concede, to say exactly what happened. He remembered however that Daz had thrown it out into the open during their second exercise. "You heard what Daz said?"

"I heard about a 'McCallum' and a 'Dreyer'. Who were they and what do they have to do with you asking me all this?"

The details of the last six months came back to Mackley in grizzly fashion. He saw the burns on his old friend as he was wheeled into an emergency room. He saw the corpse of his captain as it was sealed away beneath the zipper of a body bag, mouth still twisted open in a silent scream for air. Mackley opened his own mouth again and found the strength to tell the story.

After five minutes he was finished. He let his jaws settle shut and waited for a response.

Duncan remained stony-faced throughout the whole telling. He was a hard man to read. "I did a maneuver like that myself a few years ago." He replied. "I ended up saving the life of the kid-, the man in the pod. I understand what you were going for."

"You still think I'm wrong for trying, don't you?" Mackley asked.

"I think what you think matters more to you than what I think. Is this the reason you're like this? You feel you have something to prove?"

Mackley shrugged. "Don't we all? At least you didn't kill that friend of yours directly. I did and I got another friend burned while I was at it."

"But you also saved his life." Duncan added.

"I saved it one way and ended it in another. He wound up leaving the ODSTs for good thanks to that. Thanks to me."

"Which is better than leaving in a body bag."

Mackley took a shaky breath. "And who's to blame for that one? Me, right? Daz knows it. The sarge knows it. I know it and now you know it too." He paused to gather his thoughts. "You ever got to be something you always wanted to be, then the first thing you do is screw up so bad that you still get nightmares about it?"

"...Here's what I think, Mack. You're forcing yourself to take on roles you're not prepared for. You act like a leader when you're not, and, let me know if this is true or not, you're doing it because you feel you need to make up for what happened. To everyone else and yourself."

Mackley recovered from his downcast gaze to look the trooper straight on.

"We've all screwed up here." Duncan said. "Some of us so bad that we caused others to pay for it. As for you, you might be to blame for what happened but I don't think people like Daz hate you for it. It might be the fact you're acting like you have something to prove that's causing her to see you as unrepentant, as if you don't care what happened the last time. To them, you look like someone who refuses to take responsibility for that day, to be a bit humbler. Humility isn't a bad thing. It saves more lives than it ends out here. It can save yours too. Try it, you'll notice the difference."

Mackley stared hard at him for several long seconds.

"Am I right or am I right?"

"I don't know," Mackley sighed, laughing to himself. "I haven't tried it yet. So can I go now?"

"Did you learn anything today?"

"I...think I did, Instructor Iris, sir."

Duncan smiled. "Good intentions can kill just as many people as bad ones, Mack. Don't keep acting like you know what you're doing when you don't, there's nothing good about that. If you know that and still do the same thing and it gets someone killed, their blood really will be on your hands, no questions asked. Focus on what you know how to do well. Remember what you saw that day. Use it to keep you in that focus." He stood up and nodded to the door. "Now get out of here."

:********:

Nova stood in the hallway outside, her back against the door of the maintenance room. She'd heard everything. For her, the truth was obvious that Mackley wasn't the only ODST who needed that speech.

She came looking for him after their last exercise. She had a few things to say to him that she hoped would clear things up between them. Not finding him at the mess hall with his buds, she asked around on Epsilon's comms. Rico clued her in and directed her here. However, she came so far to find out Duncan was doing her job for her. He did it well at that, better than she could have.

Duncan had grown since the incident seven years ago. She could hear it in the way he explained himself to Mackley. She by contrast was struggling to do the same.

They were well into their conversation when she registered the deeper reason why she was angry with Mackley. The moves he made in the FIT were rookie mistakes, nothing to yell at him for. She should have stayed calm. Yet she lost her cool completely and she thought it was because she was still holding on to an old rage meant for Deaks. She hated that he'd taken so much on himself before the end. Nevertheless, that wasn't why it proved to be his end and why she was angry. The blame also fell to her.

To her feet for not being fast enough.

To her finger for not pulling the trigger sooner.

If she'd been better that day, Deaks would still be alive. He would be right alongside the squad giving Whiskey the lay of the land. She envisioned him harping on Mackley and Lang particularly hard since they were both snipers. She saw him threatening to make a necklace out of their teeth if they didn't improve. The thought almost made her laugh.

Her imagination dissipated and she was left with cold reality. The same inescapable facts that drove her to wake up earlier than everyone to get in more training at the RTETC. She'd quietly loathed herself for not being enough, for forcing her friend to rely on his skills which tragically were also not enough.

'Remember what you saw that day. Use it to keep you in that focus.'

Yes, she thought, Duncan had grown a ton since those days. It was good wisdom. Mackley certainly wasn't alone in needing to apply it.

She heard the conversation coming to an end and walked off down the hallway. She gave Rico the thumbs up as she passed him. "Thanks for letting me listen in."

"De nada, Dama Roja."

:********:

Mackley stopped at the door. A final question prompted him to take a last look at Duncan. "Hey, how long have you been in the ODSTs?"

Duncan had his back to him while he finished the last bot. "Why so curious?"

"...I just am."

"Eight years. December of this year will make nine."

Mackley whistled. "Basically, a decade. You're an old man."

"You didn't just ask me that to call me old."

"Yeah, I did."

"Okay, you've overstayed your welcome. Get going. Oh, knock twice then wait a sec before you knock a third time. Rico will let you out."

"Got it." Mackley did so. The door was unlocked and Epsilon's demolitionist gracefully opened it for him.

"Hey, hermano. Thanks for the help."

"Sure."

Mackley left them behind and refused to look back. Inside, he had a twinge of guilt. He'd lied to Duncan. Mocking his age wasn't why he asked him how long he was in the service. He wanted to see if he could take him at his word. The advice of someone who'd survived for so long was far weightier than that of a novice. Maybe even weightier than most of his own ideas.

Sapientia – Wisdom