0630 Hours, July 12, 2519 (Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Wilderness Training Preserve, planet Reach John held on tight as the dropship accelerated up and over a jagged snowcapped mountain range. The sun peeked over the horizon and washed the white snow with pinks and oranges. The other members of his unit pressed their faces to the windows and watched.
Sam sat next to him and looked outside. "Nice place for a snowball fight."
"You'll lose," Kelly said. She leaned over John's shoulder to get a better look at the terrain. "I'm a dead aim with snowballs." She scratched the stubble of her shorn hair.
"Dead is right," John muttered. "Especially when you load them with rocks."
CPO Mendez stepped from the cockpit into the passenger compartment. The trainees stood and snapped to attention. "At ease, and sit down." The silver at Mendez's temples had grown to a band across the side of his closely shaved hair, but if anything he had gotten stronger and tougher since John had first laid eyes on him two years ago.
"Today's mission will be simple for a change." Mendez's voice easily penetrated the roar of the dropship's engines. He handed a stack of papers to Kelly. "Pass these out, Recruit."
"Sir!" She saluted smartly and handed one paper to each of the seventy-five children in the squad.
"These are portions of maps of the local region. You will be set down by yourselves. You will then navigate to a marked extraction point and we will pick you up there."
John turned his map over. It was just one part of a much larger map—no drop or extraction point marked. How was he supposed to navigate without a reference point? But he knew this was part of the mission, to answer that question on his own.
"One more thing," Mendez said. "The last trainee to make it to the extraction point will be left behind."
He glanced out a window. "And it's a very long walk back."
John didn't like it. He wasn't going to lose, but he didn't want anyone else to lose, either. The thought of Kelly or Sam or any of the others marching all the way back made him uneasy . . . if they could make it all the way back alone over those mountains.
"First drop in three minutes," Mendez barked. "Trainee 117, you're up first."
"Sir! Yes, sir!" John replied.
He glanced out the window and scanned the terrain. There was a ring of jagged mountains, a valley thick with cedars, and a ribbon of silver—a river that fed into a lake.
John nudged Sam, pointed to the river, then jerked his thumb toward the lake.
Sam nodded, then pulled Kelly aside and pointed out the window. Kelly and Sam moved quickly down the line of seated trainees.
The ship decelerated. John felt his stomach rise as they dropped toward the ground.
"Trainee 117: front and center." Mendez stepped to the rear of the compartment as the ship's tail split and a ramp extended. Cold air blasted into the ship. He patted John on the shoulder. "Watch out for wolves in the forest, 117."
"Yes, sir!" John looked over his shoulder at the others.
His teammates gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Good, everyone got his message.
He ran down the ramp and into the forest. The dropship's engines roared to life and it rose high into the cloudless sky. He zipped up his jacket. He wore only fatigues, boots, and a heavy parka—not exactly the gear he'd pack for a prolonged stay in the wilderness.
John started toward one particularly sharp peak he had spotted from the air; the river lay in that direction. He'd follow it downstream and meet the others at the lake.
He marched through the woods until he heard the gurgling of a stream. He got close enough to see the direction of the flow, then headed back into the forest. Mendez's exercises often had a twist to them—
stun mines on the obstacle course, snipers with paint pellet guns during parade drills. And with the Chief up in that dropship, John wasn't about to reveal his position unless he had a good reason.
He passed a blueberry bush and took the time to strip it before he moved on.
This was the first time in months he had been alone and could just think. He popped a handful of berries into his mouth and chewed.
He thought about the place that had been his home, his parents . . . but more and more that seemed like a dream. John knew it wasn't, and that he had once had a different life. But this was the life he wanted. He was a soldier. He had an important job to train for. Mendez said they were the Navy's best and brightest.
That they were the only hope for peace. He liked that.
Before, he never knew what he would be when he grew up. He never really thought about anything other than watching vids and playing—nothing had been a challenge.
Now every day was a challenge and a new adventure.
John knew more things, thanks to Déjà, than he ever thought he could have learned at his old school: algebra and trigonometry, the history of a hundred battles and kings. He could string a trip line, fire a rifle, and treat a chest wound. Mendez had shown him how to be strong . . . not only with his body, but strong with his head, too.
He had a family here: Kelly, Sam, and all the others in his squad.
The thought of his squadmates brought him back to Mendez's mission—one of them was going to be left behind. There had to be a way to get them all home. John decided he wasn't going to leave if he couldn't figure it out.
He arrived at the edge of the lake; stood and listened.
John heard an owl hooting in the distance. He marched toward the sound. "Hey, owl," he said when he was close.
Sam stepped out from behind a tree and grinned. "That's 'Chief Owl' to you, Trainee."
They walked around the circumference of the lake, gathering the rest of the children in the squad. John counted them to make sure: sixty-seven.
"Let's get the map pieces together," Kelly suggested.
"Good idea," John said. "Sam, take three and scout the area. I don't want any of the Chief's surprises sneaking up on us."
"Right." Sam picked Fhajad, James, and Linda and then the four of them took off into the brush.
Kelly collected the map pieces and settled in the shade of an ancient cedar tree. "Some of these don't belong, and some are copies," she said, and she laid them out. "Yes, here's an edge. Got it—this is the lake, the river, and here . . . " She pointed to a distant patch of green. "That's got to be the extraction point." She shook her head and frowned. "If the legend on this map is right, it's a full day's hike, though. We better get started."
John whistled and a moment later Sam and his scouts returned.
"Let's move out," John said.
No one argued. They fell into line behind Kelly as she navigated. Sam blazed the trail ahead. He had the best eyes and ears. Several times he stopped and signaled everyone to freeze or hide—but it turned out to be just a rabbit or a bird.
After several miles of marching, Sam dropped back. He whispered to John, "This is too easy. It's not like any of the Chief's normal field exercises."
John nodded. "I've been thinking that, too. Just keep your eyes and ears sharp."
They stopped at noon to stretch and eat berries they had gathered along the trail.
Fhajad spoke up. "I want to know one thing," he said. He paused to wipe the sweat off his dark skin.
"We're going to get to the extraction point at the same time. So who's getting left behind? We should decide now."
"Draw straws," someone suggested.
"No," John said, and stood. "No one's being left behind. We're going to figure a way to get all of us out."
"How?" Kelly asked, scratching her head. "Mendez said—"
"I know what he said. But there's got to be a way—I just haven't thought of one yet. Even if it has to be me that stays behind—I'll make sure everyone gets back to the base." John started marching again.
"Come on, we're wasting time."
The others fell in behind him.
The shadows of the trees lengthened and melted together and the sun turned the edge of the sky red.
Kelly halted and motioned for everyone else to stop. "We're almost there," she whispered.
"Me and Sam will scout it out," John said. "Everyone fall out . . . and keep quiet."
The rest of the children silently followed his orders.
John and Sam crept through the underbrush and then hunkered down at the edge of a meadow.
The dropship sat in the center of the grassy field; her floodlights illuminated everything for thirty meters.
Six men sat on the open launch ramp, smoking cigarettes and passing a canteen between themselves.
Sam motioned to drop back. "You recognize them?" he whispered.
"No. You?"
Sam shook his head. "They're not in uniform. They don't look like any soldiers I've ever seen. Maybe they're rebels. Maybe they stole the dropship and killed the Chief."
"No way," John said. "Nothing can kill the Chief. But one thing's for sure: I don't think we can just walk up there and get a free ride back to the base. Let's go back."
They crept back into the woods and then explained the situation to the others.
"What do you want to do?" Kelly asked him.
John wondered why she thought he had an answer. He looked around and saw everyone was watching him, waiting for him to speak. He shifted on his feet. He had to say something.
"Okay . . . we don't know who these men are or what they'll do when they see us. So we find out."
The children nodded, seeming to think this was the right thing to do.
"Here's how," John told them. "First, I'll need a rabbit."
"That's me," Kelly said, and sprang to her feet. "I'm the fastest."
"Good," John said. "You go to the edge of the meadow—and then let them see you. I'll go along and hide nearby and watch. In case anything happens to you, I'll report back to the others."
She nodded.
"Then you lure a few back here. Run right past this spot. Sam, you'll be out in the open, pretending like you've broken your leg."
"Gotcha," Sam said. He walked over to Fhajad and had him scrape his shin with his boot. Blood welled from the wound.
"The rest of you," John said, "wait in the woods in a big circle. If they try to do anything but help Sam . . . " John made a fist with his right hand and slammed it into his open palm. "Remember the moose and the wolves?"
They all nodded and grinned. They had seen that lesson many times in Déjà's classroom.
"Get some rocks," John told them.
Kelly stripped off her parka, stretched her legs and knees. "Okay," she said, "let's do this."
Sam lay down, clutching his leg. "Oooh—it hurts, help me."
"Don't overdo it," John said, and kicked some dirt on him. "Or they'll know it's a setup."
John and Kelly then crept toward the meadow and halted a few meters form the edge. He whispered to her, "If you want me to be the rabbit . . . "
She slugged him in the shoulder—hard. "You think I can't do my part?"
"I take it back," he said, rubbing his shoulder.
John moved off ten meters to her flank, took cover, and watched.
Kelly emerged at the edge of the meadow, stepping into the illumination from the dropship's floodlights.
"Hey!" she said, and waved her arms over her head. "Over here. You got any food? I'm starving."
The men slowly stood and pulled out stun batons. "There's one," John heard them whisper. "I'll get her.
The rest of you stay here and wait for the others."
The man cautiously approached Kelly, a stun baton held behind his back so she couldn't see it. She stayed put and waited for him to get closer.
"Hang on a sec," she said. "I dropped my jacket back there. I'll be right back." She turned and ran. The man leaped after her, but she had already vanished into the shadows.
"Stop!"
"This will be too easy," one of other men said. "Kids won't know what hit them." Another remarked,
"Fish in a barrel."
John had heard enough. He ran after Kelly, but realized that neither he nor the other man had a chance to catch her. He halted when he got close to where Sam lay.
The man stopped. He looked around, his eyes not quite adjusted to the dark, then spotted Sam on the ground holding his bloody leg.
"Please, help me," Sam whimpered. "It's broken."
"I got your broken leg right here, kid." The man raised his baton.
John picked up a rock. He threw it, but missed.
The man spun around. "Who's there?"
Sam rolled to his feet and darted away. There was a rustling in the forest, then a hail of stones whistled through the trees, pelting the man.
Kelly appeared and sidearmed a rock as hard as she could—and hit the man dead center in the forehead.
He toppled and slammed into the ground.
The other children moved in. "What do we do with him?" Sam asked.
"It's just an exercise, right?" Fhajad said. "He has to be with Mendez."
John rolled the man over. A trickle of blood snaked from his head into his eye socket.
"You heard him," John whispered. "You saw what he was going to do to Sam. Mendez or our trainers would never do that to us. Ever. He's got no uniform. No insignias. He's not one of us."
John kicked the man in the face and then the ribs. The man reflexively curled into a ball. "Get his baton."
Sam grabbed the weapon. He kicked him, too.
"Now we go back and get the others," John told them. "Kelly, you be the rabbit again. Just get them to the edge of the clearing. Duck out, and let us do the rest."
She nodded and started back to the meadow. The rest of the squad fanned out, collecting rocks along the way.
After a minute Kelly stepped onto the grassy field and shouted, "That guy fell and hit his head. Over here!"
The five remaining men stood and ran toward her.
When they were close enough, John whistled.
The air suddenly swarmed with stones. The men held up their hands and tried to protect themselves.
They dropped and covered their heads.
John whistled again and sixty-seven children charged screaming toward the bewildered men. The men got up to defend themselves. They looked stunned—like they couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Sam smashed his baton over a man's head. Fhajad was hit squarely in the face by one man's fist, and he fell.
The men were overwhelmed by a wave of flesh, beaten to the ground with fists and stones and boots until they no longer moved.
John stood over their bleeding bodies. He was mad. They would have hurt him and his squad. He wanted to kick in their skulls. He took a deep breath and then exhaled. He had better things to do and bigger problems to figure out—anger would have to wait.
"Want to call Mendez now?" Sam asked as he pulled Fhajad shakily to his feet.
"Not yet," John told him. He marched onto the dropship. No one else was on board.
John accessed the COM system and opened the mail link. He linked up with Déjà. Her face appeared, a scratchy hologram hovering over the terminal.
"Good evening, Trainee 117," she said. "Do you have a homework question?"
"Kind of," he replied. "One of CPO Mendez's assignments."
"Ah." After moment's pause she said, "Very well."
"I'm in a Pelican dropship. There's no pilot, but I need to get home. Teach me to fly it, please."
Déjà shook her head. "You are not rated to fly that craft, Trainee. But I can help. Do you see the winged icon in the corner of your screen? Tap it three times."
John tapped it and a hundred icons and displays filled the screen.
"Touch the green arrows at nine o'clock twice," she told him.
He did and then the words autopilot activated flashed onscreen.
"I have control now," Déjà said. "I will get you home."
"Hang on a second," John said and ran outside. "Everyone onboard—double time!"
The children ran onto the ship.
Kelley paused and asked, "Who's getting left behind?"
"No one," John said. "Just get in." He made sure he was the last on the ship, then said, "Okay, Déjà, get out us out of here."
The dropship's jets roared to life and it rose into the sky.
John stood at attention in Chief Petty Officer Mendez's office. He had never been in here. No one had.
A trickle of sweat dripped down his back. The dark wood paneling and the smell of cigar smoke made him feel claustrophobic.
Mendez glowered at John as he read the report on his clipboard.
The door opened and Dr. Halsey walked in. Mendez stood, gave her a curt nod and then sat back in his padded chair.
"Hello, John," Dr. Halsey said. She sat across from Mendez, crossed her legs, and then adjusted her gray skirt.
"Dr. Halsey," John replied instantly. He saluted. None of the other grown-ups called him by his first name, ever. He didn't understand why she did.
"Trainee 117," Mendez snapped. "Tell me again why you stole UNSC property . . . and why you attacked the men I had assigned to guard it."
John wanted to explain that he was just doing what had to be done. That he was sorry. That he would do anything to make it up. But John knew the Chief hated whiners, almost as much as he hated excuses.
"Sir," John said. "The guards were out of uniform. No insignia. They failed to identify themselves, sir!"
"Hmm," Mendez mused over the report again. "So it seems. And the ship?"
"I took my squad home, sir. I was the last onboard—so if anyone should have been left—"
"I didn't ask for a passenger list, Crewman." His voice softened to a growl and he turned to Dr. Halsey.
"What are we going to do with this one?"
"Do?" She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and examined John. "I think that's obvious, Chief.
Make him a Squad Leader."