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Halo - Conflict in Hell by Rob Seymour
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Chapter 1
Date: 30 July 2007, 11:29 pm
Academic Beginnings
I held my MA2B at the ready. Crouched against the rock, I ordered Parker to give me covering fire. He overcame his obstacle and began firing multiple rounds from his rifle. As he did, I crouched rolled to a better place of cover, a wall from a ruined building, crumbling away. I, in turn, gave Parker some covering fire in the direction of the targets, and he ran in my direction.
As he reached me, we both reloaded in unison. I looked across to him. I could see a slash of colour across his right shoulder. He was hit. And he had realised. He looked down at it, sighed, and looked over the wall. Many green shots came in his direction, one hitting him squarely into his visor. He fell to the dirt. Damn.
I looked across the field. I could see another squad, making its way down the hill, in the direction of the targets. A shot came across my face, and I hid once again. I wasn't ready to go yet. I looked down to Parker, his head nodding from side to side. He'd be fine. The second squad was nearly there.
I leant across the near-destroyed wall, and began firing. The shots caused the targets to take cover behind a set of small rocks nearby. As they did this, the second squad began firing. The shots continued until a set of sirens began. We'd taken the hill. We'd won.
I picked Parker up, and began wiping away the paint from his visor. I could hear him laughing underneath his helmet. He was fine. He stood up, still slightly dazed, but still standing.
"Why are you laughing, mate? You got owned, you do know that?" I questioned him.
"Yeah, sure, I'm just happy it weren't for real!" He chuckled lightly.
But it wasn't a laughing matter. The exercise could easily have been real, he would have been dead. However, this was training, we were learning from our mistakes. It wouldn't take long until we were fully trained. We had all taken our final written exams; we just needed to play the waiting game until our physical exams. It was only a month away. We were all anticipating it. If we passed, we would all be Marines.
I walked along the grassy path. This valley we were in was owned completely by the UNSC especially for training exercises. It was an honour to fight in them. We walked towards the Pelican, hovering around, ready for launch. I sat down in the seat, directly next to the ramp. We would be flying with Sierra 247, being flown by a new pilot, still in training, named Lopez Gonzalez. We were unsure about this new pilot, still very wary in case this was yet another exercise. We would have preferred our last pilot, Lieutenant Rick Arch.
Paris IV was a beautiful planet, especially from the air. I looked down to the box canyon, happy at what humanity had found. Peace. But this was not the case. Only a few months before this exercise, the UNSC had come into contact with an unknown alien race, but had been obliterated. We all knew worse things were to come, so we had to buckle down.
Nearly back at the Academy, I remembered something; we would be meeting our Sergeant today. I didn't know how to feel. Would he be good? Would he be mean? Would he understand? I knew I wouldn't be sure until I met him or her. I looked across the deck to see the faces of my fellow Marines. Some were happy, some were gloomy, some were naturally hurt. Some hid themselves in their helmets, some looked across the horizon. I sat silently for the journey back.
We arrived back at the academy, ready to meet our Sergeant. We dragged ourselves from our seats, and lumbered our way back to the Armoury. We were all tired from the exercise. We entered the barracks, and relieved ourselves of our equipment. The training weapons, modified MA2B that shot pellets of paint, not complete shells, we left separately. We made our way to the Academy Barracks, when we met him.
He was a sight. He was about the same height as everyone else, yet he seemed terrifying. He was much darker than everyone else, his skin matching his mood. His stern look was overpowering, his stare gargantuan. His breath reeked of Harvest Palm Cigars. He had a Harvest-American accent, which was bad. Harvest was the first planet to be glassed.
"AN' WHAT TIME DO YA CALL THIS?!?!" He shouted, questionably.
We couldn't answer his question. We had all taken our time when we got back, so there was no excuse. He was looking deadly serious about it. We couldn't answer his question.
"Look, sir, respectively," I began to answer "we've just gotten back from an exercise, an' we…"
"Halt it, soldier. An exercise? It was a shambles, soldier. I was watchin' from command, and I gotta say, it was rubbish. Do yer think they're gonna fight as pansies?"
"No, sir. But sir…" Parkers said aloud.
"An' you? You were the worst. You got shot once in the shoulder, enough to kill some, an' then once in the face. What do yer call that?! That isn't fightin'. That's dyin'!" Shouted the Sergeant. Parker sat on his bed, confused at the comment.
"Private, did I tell you to stand at ease?" questioned the Sergeant.
Parkers was very annoyed, and stood back to attention. Everyone else stood slightly taller. Our last commanding officer, Sergeant Lister, had been much more lenient, compared to our new Sergeant. I looked down to his nametag; it read "Sergeant Marcus Luther Mayhew".
He decided that we had all seen enough of him. He ordered us to rest for an hour, then we'd have our next exercise. We were all tired, and needed the rest. After our rest, we repeated the last exercise many times, until he thought it was perfect. It was hellish.
Over the following few weeks, we'd see much more of him. He led us on to do relentless and tiresome exercises, numerous night marches, and rigorous tests. However, all this training paid off, and we all passed our final exams, all legally part of the UNSC Military. Time to go to battle.
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