Right, left, right right, left left left. The taught fabric of the punching bag was grounding against his knuckles, even despite the tape.
He should’ve been asleep hours ago.
“Three O’clock high, Marine!”
Carter barked, depressing the trigger of his DMR thrice, eyes locking onto the spray of blood that flew from the Jackal’s head.
Right right right, left, right, left left.
His skin was on fire and freezing at the same time.
“Corpsman! Corpsman!”
Came the voice of PFC Cassidy, sounding panicked over the roar of MA5s. Carter looked back, and found Cassidy’s eyes locked onto the fallen body of Corporal Richards.
Why?
Right, left.
Why was this effecting him so much?
Soldiers died. That was war.
But he couldn’t for the life of him get the look in Cassidy’s eyes out his mind.
Bang.
The bag hit the floor.
Evidently not every ship in the Navy had facilities designed for Spartans.
And he knew the large man also was right that he should talk about it. But he was the Commanding Officer. He wasn’t supposed to burden his subordinates with his problems.
He didn’t even know if he could.
Anyway, he was fine.
He was always fine.
He had to be. That was his job. Be unflappable in the face of tragedy. Remain clear-headed and objective.
“Jorge, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, focus on the others.”
You know, they all died because of you, right? All of NOBLE is gone because you couldn't save them. You weren't fast enough.
You failed them.
And now they're gone.
Forever.
They’re right, 259. They’re all dead because of you.
Carter’s eyes snapped open as he sat up, chest heaving, desperate to claim enough oxygen but never seeming to have enough.
“Shut up!”
“Not here, 259. This place is mine.”
What?
Carter blinked harshly, eyes darting around his dark quarters— where?
There!
In the corner, front right compared to his current position. Half-shrouded in shadow.
Impossible.
The form stepped out of the shadows in a rather dramatic fashion, it only needed two steps.
It being his armor.
“We have a designation, 259.”
Carter was on his feet— wait, what?
“I’m not you.”
Sure, he’d been scared before. When he was younger, at Camp Currahe. Even more recently, on Reach. But he’d always been able to tamp it down. This? What he was feeling? It wasn’t fear.
It was terror.
A mixture of terror and rage boiled in his chest, neither feeling outright incapacitated him but both certainly had him feeling queasy. This was a scene straight out of his nightmares.
“I’m in your head, Spartan. Metaphysics was never our strong suit, but even you know we’re one in the same.”
“No.”
259— his armor looked ever so slightly down at him.
This seemed like a spot where a crossing of arms would be appropriate but it just didn’t. It was wrong. It didn’t follow mannerisms that 25—that Carter knew he had. It wasn’t human.
“Who do you think you owe your life to, Spartan?”
Faster than Carter could react, it’s gauntlet shot out directly towards his face and—
“Contact front!”
His quarters were gone, now he was standing in the middle of a battlefield. Still in his civvies, civvies being a relative term for boots, pants and a thin shirt.
Two long stretches of buildings on either side of a long plain of destruction, comparative to the No Man’s Land of the 20th century’s Great War between two trenches, above him hovered the domineering shape of a CCS-class battlecruiser.
Fumirole.
A trio of plasma bolts zipped past him, and on pure instinct 2—Carter sidestepped and dove for a nearby DMR resting in the mud, performing a combat roll as he grabbed it and ignoring the feel of mud coating his body when he shouldered the rifle.
259 blinked, and suddenly he was in his armor, finger hammering trigger and sending Elites sprawling to the dirt. Then his COM sputtered to life, and Carter found himself speaking.
“293, stand down!”
No. Nono. Nonono not again pleasenonotagainplease.
“I’m not so sure that’s an option anymore, Commander.”
Please not again, I don’t want to- please no.
259 sidestepped to the left, twirling on his heel and performing a full 360 rotation before shouldering his DMR and pulling the trigger and watching an Elite collapse in a hail of blood as globs of plasma tore through where he’d originally been standing. Carter on the hand, focused on his radio.
“Thom, fall back! We can find another way!”
“You know damn well this is our one shot, Boss! I ain’t about to let Kat get barbecued for nothin’!”
NO!
Carter glanced up at the silently hovering CCS-class that was the main objective of Operation: ROSEBUD. Sanctity of Purification, it was called. And then 258 ducked as a splash of plasma smattered across his shield and alarms blared in his ears.
“Commander, I have Two. Me and Four are assisting a medical team getting her back to the firebase. Over.”
Not a second later, Thom came back on his private line with Carter.
“You heard Jorge, Boss!”
I can’t take this again..
Carter, for one of the first times in his life, was at a lose for what do. He’d lost soldiers before. This.. this.. why was this different?
“Thom-“
“Goddamnit Carter! Go, now!”
The next thing he remembered was darkness. Not the darkness of unconsciousness.. at least, not yet. But the darkness of every possible visible line being obstructed by dust, dirt and debris. Force the likes of which he’d never felt before washed over him, he didn’t know which way was up, alarms were blaring in his ears—shields, inactive.
Pain blossomed in his everywhere, his skin was on fire, yet he was freezing at the same time—temperature regulation, offline.
His back slammed into what felt like concrete and he heard something break as even more pain blossomed in his back.
Something was coming towards him in the dusty haze; He couldn’t make out what it was at first, assuming it was just a piece of concrete. Then it landed next to him.
It was a helmet, the visor cracked and covered in flash-boiled blood that hadn’t quite evaporated, instead charred itself black.
Then all memory vanished. The next thing he remembered was waking up aboard the Aegis Fate.
Not this time.
This time, the black faded earlier.
What he returned to was the dust fading, complete silence roaring in his ear. He was stood atop a hill of Covenant bodies, some missing limbs, others looked like they’d literally had their skulls caved in, others still—and these were the minority—had bullet wounds.
His gauntlets and vambraces.. he couldn’t even see the blue.. all he saw was purple.. green.. even red.
Nothing but blood.
259 flexed his fingers— Carter couldn’t breathe, and he felt his legs give out, sending him tumbling down the pile of corpses. He was disoriented when he reached the bottom and landed on his knees, staring down at his gauntlets.
Now all the blood was red.
Carter blinked, and suddenly he was staring at clean hands, and steel deck plating. His head snapped up to meet his own visor, eyes narrow.
“I am the reason we aren’t dead because of your weakness.”
Carter felt the rage that had been roiling in his chest boil over, and before he knew what was happening—
“You’re a machine, 259. Accept it.”
Carter launched himself at 259, colliding with the suit of armor with the force of a speeding train, tackling it to the floor with a clank of steel. His fists slammed into the impassive golden visor over and over, and he didn’t feel a thing.
“I am human! I. Am. Human!”
The visor was cracking.
“I’m not a machine!”
Crack. Crack. Crack. Smash.
Fiery red hair and eyes of sapphire, covered in blood.
Carter sat his datapad down as he processed the question, leaning back in his chair and running his hands over his face.
All the time.
Carter’s eyes scanned from right to left and back again as he walked, finger tapping against his trigger guard. Even Spartans had to go on patrols, they weren’t exempt from tasks that the UNSC regulars had to perform.
Currently, he was the only Spartan with Charlie Team. Colonel Martin had seen fit to spread Noble out over the patrol schedule instead of limiting the Spartans’ skills to a single patrol, and Carter agreed wholeheartedly.
His eyes fell to the bottom left of his HUD, reading over the names of Charlie Team. Himself, PFC Rebecca Cassidy, PFC William Robinson, Lance Corporal Jacob Ewell and Corporal Lance Hutch.
Cassidy he knew before this, she’d served with distinction at the Battle of Ectanus 45. The others were new.
Crash-Smash.
Carter knew that sound.
A scream.
“Ambush!”
Carter pulled a full 180 and shouldered his DMR, eyes coming to rest on a fallen Cassidy with a pink needle sticking halfway out of her left knee and covered in blood. And there was more already airborne.
Spartan Time kicked in.
Time slowed down as Carter sprinted towards the fallen marine, dodging plasma that looked like it was moving at a snail’s pace left and right before reaching Cassidy and leaning over her, covering her with his own body.
Crash, smash smash. Crash.
Carter grunted as the needles ricocheted and shattered on his armor. Cassidy screamed as her leg shifted, and he watched her eyes glaze-over.
With his free hand, he gripped Cassidy’s chin and her eyes immediately became alert again, locking onto his visor.
“Cassidy, look at me. Stay with me, Marine. You’re gonna be fine.”
She has to be. It’s my job to protect them.
MA5 fire started kicking off around them, the long since familiar bass-filled staccato of gunnery crackling like a fire. Then Carter straightened, grasping his DMR in his right hand and Cassidy’s chest-rigging in his left to drag her behind a cluster of fallen debris. The harsh movement elicited another scream from the blonde, but the look she gave him let him know she was ok.
As soon as she was behind cover, Carter shouldered his rifle again and sighted in.
Bang. Bang bang.
A Jackal fell from a fourth floor window, warbling as it plummeted to a death that was already guaranteed by the bullets.
Movement on his motion tracker had him tensing, but then he realized the tracker was green, not yellow or red. It was PFC Robinson.
“Commander!”
Carter inclined his head at the Marines words to let him know he was listening as he fired another trio of rounds at an Elite that peaked around a corner, forcing it to duck back.
“If she doesn’t get out of here soon, this leg is toast! The damn needle hit a cluster of nerve endings! Ain’t shit for a cloned limb!”
Carter’s mind translated the Marine-speak.
Too much blood loss. Little time until the limb is unrecoverable. Nerve endings damaged. Flash-cloned replacement improbable to work correctly.
Carter didn’t hesitate to blink into his HUD and connect to the local network.
“Command, this is Noble One. I have troops in contact at grid 23-by-45. We have wounded, I repeat we have wounded. Code Red. Over.”
A moment past.
“Understood Noble Leader. Copy, troops in contact. Code Red wounded. CASEVAC inbound. Over.”
Minutes felt like hours under the hail of plasma and the retort of lead. But then he heard the roar of engines.
An M12 LRV rounded the corner, engine screaming and M46 Vulcan cannon roaring, followed by an M831 troop transport rolling up behind it.
Carter took his chance.
“Hutch, with me! Robinson, Ewell, cover!”
“Covering!” Robinson and Ewell barked, both popping up from behind the rubble and taking turns firing at their attackers.
Carter picked Cassidy up by her pauldron, Hutch doing the same on her opposite side and hustling the wounded Marine into the back of the waiting transport. As Carter turned to leave, Cassidy grabbed his arm.
“Commander!”
Carter stopped. Cassidy smiled.
“That’s two I owe you.”
Carter couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, patting Cassidy’s good leg.
“Happy to serve alongside you any day, Marine. Now—“
Cassidy’s face darkened, and before even Carter could react she drew her sidearm and emptied the entire magazine over his head.
Carter turned, and found himself face to face with a dead Elite.
Something exploded, and the moment shattered.
Carter shouldered his DMR again and slammed the side of the M831 three times.
“Go! Go go!”
Carter stared down at the helmet resting at his feet. It wasn’t his own. It was a CH252, utilized by the Marines, the Army, the Airforce, even some of the Navy.
There were thousands of them around him.
A helmet, a pair of boots, and an MA5B. That same pattern thousands of times.
How many Marines had he lost, how many marines could’ve been saved if he’d been just a little faster?
Carter sighed, reached out a brushed a thumb over the dog tags hanging from the MA5.
A voice whispered in the back of his mind. Was it his? Or something else? That would be for him to decide.
"Noble is gone because of you. You know that right? Emile, Kat, Jorge, every member of Noble that you lost. All because you weren't prepared one way or another. You were their leader, you were supposed to take care of them. And look what happened. They fell while you got to live, now why is that? Matter of fact, why don't we include the countless billions lost on Reach. They were your responsibility too. You where supposed to protect them, and yet you failed. You're a failure, admit it."
He’s right, 259.
Shut up.
You screwed up.
Shut. Up.
They’re all dead because of you!
“Shut up!”
Carter’s thoughts were verbalized by complete accident, but that was the least of his problems as he flung the datapad in his hand at the wall with as much force as he could muster.
Big surprise, it shattered on impact, micro-lacerations showering over his arms. But he didn’t even flinch.
Thom was the first he could remember.
There were losses before him, but Carter couldn’t remember.
Not their faces.
“Not even their goddamn names!”
Thoughts were made vocal again as Carter’s fist hit the wall.
Calm down.
“What the hell kind of later doesn’t remember the name of every soldier he’s lost?”
Calm. Down.
He hadn’t realized it at the time, but Six’s transmitter had been on. The entire team had heard Jorge’s last words, but he was the only one who had even clicked that it was Jorge.
Tell ‘em to make it count.
“I’m sorry Jorge…”
I should’ve been up there. I could’ve helped him cover the Pelican’s blind spots.
Kat was sudden. So fucking sudden he still wasn’t even sure he’d processed it. Middle of a sentence. Gone in a millisecond.
The crash of shattering crystal had him turning on a dime. The clank of armor hitting the ground. He had the sense to mute his external speakers before he instinctively yelled,
“Kat!”
How had he not heard the anti-grav generators? How?!
His hands slammed down onto his desk with a sharp clang of metal and stinging up his arms.
He didn’t have a clue what happened to Jun. Probably lying dead in a valley somewhere, all because he sent him off alone.
“Good luck to you too, rifleman.”
Emile… he didn’t even know how Emile died. All he knew was that he was dead.
“It’s been an honor, Sir.”
“Likewise.”
They’re all dead.
Because of you.
The one point two billion people on Reach?
All dead.
Because you weren’t fast enough.
“Shut up!”
This time he flat out swiped about half of the stuff on his desk off…
… before falling back against the wall and sliding down to floor, head resting in his hands.
