Read Online Halo: Ghosts of Onyx by Eric S. Nylund - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric S. Nylund
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long list of challenges. With a final target class four times larger than the SPARTAN-IIs', a severely truncated training schedule, and the need for these Spartans in the war increasing every month, Kurt, in fact, expected a disaster.
The Pelican jet transports swooped down on final approach and angled their thrusters. The sod on the parade field rippled like velvet. One by one they gingerly touched down.
Although Kurt's MJOLNIR armor was not designed to bear rank insignia, he nonetheless felt the weight of his new lieutenant's bars. They pressed down on him as if they were a ton each, as if the weight of the entire war and future of humanity rested squarely upon his shoulders.
"Sir?" a voice whispered into his COM.
The voice belonged to the artificial intelligence Eternal Spring. It was officially assigned to the planetary survey team stationed in the northern section of this peninsula.
Kurt wasn't sure why Colonel Ackerson had insisted that Camp Currahee be built next to the facility. He was sure, however, there had been a reason.
"Go ahead. Spring."
"Updated details on the candidates available," it said.
"Thanks."
"Thank me after your so-called test, sir." Eternal Spring terminated transmission with a hiss of static that sounded like angry bees.
Cajoled by Section Three brass, Eternal Spring had agreed to devote 9 percent of its runtime to the SPARTAN-III project. The AI was of the "smart" variety, which meant there were no limits
on its knowledge capacity or creativity. Despite its occasional theatrics, Kurt was happy for its help.
Kurt blinked and accessed the candidates' data on his heads-up display. Each name had a serial number and linked to background files. There were 497 of them, a collection of four-, five-, and six-year-old children that he somehow had to forge into a fighting force unparalleled in the history of warfare.
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
The Pelican jet transports swooped down on final approach and angled their thrusters. The sod on the parade field rippled like velvet. One by one they gingerly touched down.
Although Kurt's MJOLNIR armor was not designed to bear rank insignia, he nonetheless felt the weight of his new lieutenant's bars. They pressed down on him as if they were a ton each, as if the weight of the entire war and future of humanity rested squarely upon his shoulders.
"Sir?" a voice whispered into his COM.
The voice belonged to the artificial intelligence Eternal Spring. It was officially assigned to the planetary survey team stationed in the northern section of this peninsula.
Kurt wasn't sure why Colonel Ackerson had insisted that Camp Currahee be built next to the facility. He was sure, however, there had been a reason.
"Go ahead. Spring."
"Updated details on the candidates available," it said.
"Thanks."
"Thank me after your so-called test, sir." Eternal Spring terminated transmission with a hiss of static that sounded like angry bees.
Cajoled by Section Three brass, Eternal Spring had agreed to devote 9 percent of its runtime to the SPARTAN-III project. The AI was of the "smart" variety, which meant there were no limits
on its knowledge capacity or creativity. Despite its occasional theatrics, Kurt was happy for its help.
Kurt blinked and accessed the candidates' data on his heads-up display. Each name had a serial number and linked to background files. There were 497 of them, a collection of four-, five-, and six-year-old children that he somehow had to forge into a fighting force unparalleled in the history of warfare.
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
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