The hatch on the nearest Pelican opened with a hiss, and a tall man strode out.
Mendez had aged well. His trim body looked chiseled from ironwood, but the hair was now silver, and there were deep creases around his eyes and a set of ragged scars that ran brow to chin.
"Chief." Kurt resisted the urge to snap to attention as Mendez saluted. As odd as it felt, Kurt was now his commanding officer.
Kurt returned his salute.
"Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez reporting for duty, sir."
After the SPARTAN-II program, Chief Mendez had, at his request, been reassigned to active duty. He'd fought the Covenant on five worlds, and been awarded two purple hearts.
"You were briefed on the flight?"
"Completely," Mendez said. As he looked Kurt over in his MjOLNIR armor, emotions played over his face; awe, approval, and resolve. "We'll get these new recruits trained, sir."
This was precisely the response Kurt had hoped for. Mendez was a legend among the Spartans. He had tricked, trapped, and tortured them as children. They all hated, and then learned to admire the man. He had taught them how to fight—and how to win.
"Do they let Spartans drink now?" Mendez asked.
"Chief?"
"A bad joke, sir. We might both need one before this day is over," he said. "The new trainees are, well, sir, a little wild. I don't know if either of us is ready for this."
Mendez turned to the Pelicans, inhaled, and yelled, "Recruits, fallout!"
Kids streamed off dropship ramps. Hundreds tromped onto the field, screaming, and throwing clumps of sod at one another. After being cooped up for hours, they went wild. A few, however, milled near the ships, dark circles under their eyes, and they huddled tighter. Adult handlers herded them onto the grass.
"You've read Lord of the Flies, sir?" Mendez muttered.
"I have," Kurt replied. "But your analogy will not hold. These children will have guidance. They will have disciphne. And they have one thing no ordinary children have, not even the SPARTAN-II candidates. Motivation."
Kurt linked to the camp's PA. He cleared his throat and the sound rumbled over the field like thunder.
Nearly five hundred crazed children stopped in their tracks, fell silent, and turned amazed at the giant in the shining emerald armor
"Attention, recruits," Kurt said and stood akimbo. "1 am Lieutenant Ambrose. You have all endured great hardships to be here. 1 know each of you has lost your loved ones on Jericho VII, Harvest, and Biko. The Covenant has made orphans of you all."
Every kid stared at him, some with tears now gleaming in their eyes, others with pure burning hatred.
"1 am going to give you a chance to learn how to fight, a chance to become the best soldiers the UNSC has ever produced, a chance to destroy the Covenant. I am giving you a chance to be like me: a Spartan."
The kids crowded before him, close… but none actually dared to touch the shimmering pale green armor.
"We cannot accept everyone, though," Kurt continued. "There are five hundred of you. We have three hundred training slots. So tonight. Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez"—he nodded to
the Chief—"has devised a way to separate those who truly want this opportunity from those who do not."
Kurt handed him a tablet reader. "Chief?"
To his credit Mendez registered shock for only a split second. He scanned the tablet, frowned, but nodded.
"Yes, sir," he whispered.
Mendez yelled at the children, "You want to be Spartans? Then get back on those ships."
They stood shocked, staring at him.
"No? I guess we found a few washouts. You." He pointed to one child at random. "You. And you."
The chosen kids looked at each other, at the ground, and then shook their heads.
"No?" Mendez said. "Then get on those Pelicans."
They did so, and so did the others, a slow shuffling procession.
"Drill instructors," Mendez said.
Three dozen NCOs snapped to attention.
"You will find Falcon Wing aerial descent units on the field. Load them ASAP and make sure your trainees are properly fit-led. Their safe deployment is now your responsibility."
The DIs nodded and ran toward the bundled Falcon Wing backpacks.
The Chief turned back to Kurt. "You're going to make them drop?" He raised both eyebrows in surprise. "At night?"
"The Falcons are the safest drop units," Kurt replied.
"With respect, sir, some of them are only four years old."
"Motivation, Chief. If they can do this, they'll be ready for what we have to put them through." Kurt watched the Pelicans fire their jets and scorch the grass. "But just in case," he added, "deploy all dropships to recover the candidates. There may be accidents."
Mendez exhaled deeply. "Yes, sir" He started for the nearest Pelican.
"Chief," Kurt said, "I'm sorry that order had to come from you."
"I understand, sir," Mendez replied. "You're their CO. You have to inspire and command
their respect. I'm their drill instructor. I get to be their worst nightmare." He gave Kurt a crooked smile and climbed aboard.
Shane clung to the plastic loops on the side of the Pelican's hull. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the other kids—packed so close that he wouldn't have fallen if he let go. The
roar of the Pelican's jets was deafening, but still he could hear his own heart racing in his chest.
This was the end of a journey that had started years ago. He'd heard jets like this when it started, the jets of the light freighter as it rocketed away from Harvest. It had been crowded on that ship, too… filled with refugees trying to get as far away, as fast as they could, from the monsters.
Only one in six ships had made it.
Sometimes Shane wished he hadn't lived and seen the monsters burn his family and home.
When the Navy man had come to visit him in the orphanage and asked if Shane wanted to get even with them, he immediately volunteered. No matter what it took, he was going to kill all the Covenant.
They had given him lots of tests, the written kind, blood tests, and then a month-long space trip as the Navy man collected more and more volunteers.
Shane had thought the testing was over when they final got into the PeHcans and came to this new place, but he'd barely touched the ground when they'd been shoved back inside and sent back up into the air.
He'd gotten a glimpse of the one in charge. He wore armor like Shane had seen in fairy tale books: the Green Knight who
fought dragons. That's what Shane wanted. He was going to wear armor like that one day and kill all the monsters.
"Check your straps," an old Navy man barked at him and the other kids.
Shane tugged at the black backpack that they'd put on him three minutes ago. It weighed almost as much as him, and the straps had been pulled so tight they cut into his ribs.
"Report any looseness," the man shouted over the roar of the engines.
None of the twenty other kids said anything.
"Recruits, stand by," the man barked. He listened into his headphones and then a green light blinked on a panel near his head. The man punched numbers into a keypad.
The back of the Pelican hissed open, the ramp lowered, and a tornado screamed around Shane. He yelled; so did the other kids. They all pushed and shoved to the front of the Pelican's bay.
The old Navy man stood by the open bay door, unafraid that only a meter to his rear was open sky. He regarded the squirming kids with disgust.
Behind him a dusky orange band marked the edge of the world. Twilight and lengthening shadows slipped over snowcapped mountains.
"You will form a line and jump," the man shouted. "You will count to ten and pull this." He reached up to his left shoulder, grasped the bright red handle there, and made a pretend pull motion. "Some confusion will be normal."
The kids stared at him. No one moved.
"If you cannot do this," the man said, "you cannot be a Spar-Ia
n. It's your choice."
Shane looked at the other kids. They looked at him.
A girl with pigtails and missing her front teeth stepped forward. "I'll go first, sir," she
yelled.
"Good girl," he said. "Go right to the edge; hang on to the guide line."
She took the tiniest baby steps to the edge of the Pelican, then froze. She took three
deep breaths and then with a squeak, she jumped. The wind caught her.
She vanished into the dark.
"Next!" the old Navy man said.
All the kids, Shane included, slowly formed a line. He couldn't believe they were doing
this. It was nuts. The next boy got to the edge, looked down, and screamed. He fell backward, and
scrambled away. "No!" he said. "No way!"
"Next!" the man called, and didn't give the kid cowering on the deck another glance.
The next boy jumped without even looking. And the next.
Then it was Shane's turn.
He couldn't move his legs.
"Hurry up, loser," the boy behind him said and gave him a shove.
Shane stumbled forward—halting only a half step from the edge. He turned and stopped himself from shoving this kid back. The kid was a head taller than Shane, and his black hair fell into his eyes, making it seem like he was missing his forehead. Shane wasn't afraid of this creep.
He turned back to face the night rushing past him. This was what he was afraid of.
Shane's legs filled with freezing concrete. The rushing wind was so loud he couldn't hear
anything else anymore, not even his hammering heart.
He couldn't move. He was stuck on the edge. There was no way he could jump.
But now he was so scared he couldn't even turn around and chicken out, either. If he sat
down, though, and then slowly inched back—
"Go, dumbass!" The creep kid behind him pushed. Hard.
Shane fell off the ramp and into the night.
He tumbled and screamed until he couldn't breathe.
Shane saw flashes of the dimming sunset, black ground, the white caps of the mountains, and stars.
He threw up.
Some confusion will be normal.
The red handle! He had to grab it. He reached up, but there was nothing there. He clawed at his shoulder until two fmgers found purchase. He tugged.
There was a ripping sound and something unraveled from his pack.
Shane jerked straight, his legs whipping after him, and his teeth snapped together from the sudden bone-jarring deceleration.
The spinning world stopped.
Gasping and blinking away his tears, Shane saw the last bit of amber light fade from the edge of the world, and the stars gently rock back and forth around him.
Overhead the wind whistled and rippled though a black canopy. Ropes connected Shane to this wing, and his hands instinctively grabbed them. As he pulled, the wing turned and angled in that direction.
The sudden motion made him dizzy again, so he let go.
Shane squinted and made out shapes swimming around him: black on black like the bats on Harvest. Those had to be the other kids, gliding like he was.
His face heated as he remembered how he'd chickened out at the last minute in the Pelican… in front of everyone. Even that little girl had jumped.
Shane never wanted to be scared like that again. Maybe if he imagined that he was already dead, then there would be nothing to be afraid of. It'd be like he'd died with his parents on Harvest.
He mustered this mental image—dead and nothing to fear— and to test it, he looked down. Past his dangling feet there was a two-centimeter green square. After a moment, he realized it was the field where all the Pelicans had landed. Tiny lines snaked from the field illuminated by tiny firefly pinpoints,
"Nothing to be scared of," he whispered, trying to convince himself.
He forced himself to pull the ropes, angle downward, and speed toward the green field.
Wind whipped through the black silk wing, and tore at Shane's face. He didn't care. He wanted down fast. Maybe if he was the first one down, he'd show everyone that he wasn't scared.
Shane saw tiny people and scorch marks where the Pelicans had burned the grass. And no other parachutes yet. Good. He'd be first, and he'd land right in front of the Green Knight.
Shane hit the ground. His knees pistoned into his chest and knocked the wind out of him.
The black wing caught a breeze, jerked him back on his feet, and dragged him across the grass and dirt. He gasped for air, but he wasn't scared. He was angry that he'd look so stupid having to wrestle with this parachute.
The Falcon Wing hit the fence, and stuck there, fluttering.
Shane got up and undipped himself from the harness. Something hot trickled down his legs. There was no way he'd been so scared he pissed his pants. With dread, he looked. It was blood. The skin on the back of his legs was raw. He took a tentative step and fire
crawled up both thighs.
He laughed. Blood or piss, what did it matter? He'd made it.
"Hey, dumbass. What's so funny?"
Shane turned and saw the kid who had pushed him. He lay on the grass, half tangled in
his harness.
Shane marched over to him, ignoring the pain in his legs.
The kid got to one knee and held out his hand to shake. "I'm Rob—"
Shane hit him square in the nose. Blood gushed from the kid's face and he reeled over.
He was going to pay for shoving him. He was the only one who knew that Shane had
frozen on the edge and chickened out. He'd have to pay for that, too.
Shane started pounding him with right and left fists.
The kid held up his arms to fend off the blows, but Shane landed a few good ones,
skinning his knuckles.
Robert headbutted Shane, and he fell off.
Robert stood, shook off his harness, then growling, leapt onto Shane.
They rolled on the grass, kicking and punching.
Shane heard a loud snap and he wasn't sure if it was his or Rob's bone breaking; he
didn't care, he kept hitting and hitting until blood spilled into his eyes and he couldn't see anymore.
Large hands grabbed Shane and pulled him off. Still swinging, Shane connected with one of the Navy men, bruising the bone over his eye.
The man dropped him.
"Stand down!" barked a voice with godlike authority.
Shane blinked and wiped blood from his eyes. The silver-haired man who had given the order to jump stood between him and the other kid.
The Navy man he'd hit pressed one hand to his swollen eye and said, "Chief, these two were going to kill each other."
"I see that," the old man said. He nodded approvingly at Shane, and then turned to Robert.
Robert ignored the old man and took a step toward Shane with his hands raised. "I said STAND DOWN!" Robert dropped his hands and staggered back as if he'd been struck. "I think you're right, Sergeant," the older Navy man said. "They really might have killed
each other." He smiled, only it
wasn't a smile. It was more like he was baring his teeth. "Very good. That kind of fight left in them after their first jump? A night jump? My God, I only hope the rest of them are like this."
CHAPTER
SEVEN
0000 HOURS, JANUARY 19, 2532 CMILITARY CALENDAR) / NARROW-BAND POINTTO-POINT TRANSMISSION: ORIGIN UNKNOWN; TERMINATION: SECTION THREE, OMEGA SECURE ANTENNA ARRAY, UNSC HO EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM, REACH MILITARY COMPLEX
///AUTOMATED REROUTE UNSC SHIP REG-96667 ABY/// FILE ACCESS GRANTED///WORM-PROTOCOL FIREWALL ENABLED/FILE ERASED/// PLNB TRANSMISSION XX087R-XX ENCRYPTION CODE: GAMMA PUBLIC KEY: N/A FROM: CODE NAME COALMINER TO: CODE NAME SURGEON SUBJECT: PROGRESS REPORT/OPERATION HYPODERMIC CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, CODE-WORD XXXX XXXX TOP SECRET (SECTION THREE X-RAY DIRECTIVE)
/FILE EXTRACTION-RECONSTITUTION COMPLETE/ /START FILE/ INST
ITUTIONAL RECORDS ALTERED AS PER INSTRUCTIONS. INITIAL CONTACT WITH BASE AI MADE. HELPFUL, BUT I DON'T TRUST IT . PACKAGES DELIVERED. SELECTION PROCESS STARTED. OPERATION UNDERWAY AND ON
SCHEDULE. CANDIDATES EXHIBIT MARKED AGGRESSION WELL OUT OF BOUNDS OF THE SMITH
KENSINGTON INDEX . AS MUCH WORK TRAINING THEM AS IT IS KEEPING THEM FROM MURDERING EACH OTHER. THEY'RE REAL HELLCATS . LIEUTENANT CLAIMS ALL UNDER CONTROL. HE HAS A PLAN FOR EVERYTHING. UNSURE
WHERE HE'S GETTING THIS CONFIDENCE, BUT I DO BELIEVE HE KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING. ARE YOU SURPRISED?
/END FILE/ /SCRAMBLE-DESTRUCTION PROCESS ENABLE/ PRESS ENTER TO CONTINUE.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
0900 HOURS, JULY 30, 2537 (MILITARY CALENDAR) ABOARD UNSC POINT OF NO RETURN, LOCATION CLASSIFED (15 YEARS AFTER ALPHA COMPANY INDOCTRINATION)
Lieutenant Ambrose and SCPO Mendez had been escorted to this catwalk through a series of corridors and high-security biometric vaults into the bowels of the stealth cruiser Point of No Return.
The security officers had then left them standing at attention on the catwalk, and sealed the vaultlike door behind them. Below the metal grating of the catwalk, the shadows swallowed all sound.
Three meters to Kurt's left was a slightly curved white wall. No door. Beyond was Odin's Eye, the high-security conference room where he'd first been told of the SPARTAN-III program by Colonel Ackerson.
"Think this is some Section Three test?" Mendez finally whispered. "Or maybe someone doesn't like getting news about the lousy selection results for the Beta Company candidates?"
"I'm not sure," Kurt replied. "My requested upgrades for the Mark-II SPI armor were over budget."
Mendez raised an eyebrow. "Where did you hear that?"
"The new AI talks a lot."
"'Deep Winter,'" muttered Mendez. "I wonder if AIs pick their own names, or if some officer in Section Three does it."
Kurt was about to offer his opinion when he noticed there now was a door in the curved white wall. Colonel Ackerson stood there. "Gendemen, join us." Ackerson then retreated into a brightly lit chamber.
Kurt noticed that he hadn't met their eyes. That was always a bad sign.
They entered, and as he crossed the threshold, Kurt felt static crawl over his skin. The concave illuminated walls of the chamber were disorienting. Kurt focused on the center of the half-spherical room, on the black conference table. Two officers sat there, gazing at holographic screens that floated in the air over its surface.