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Chapter #4 [Re-Written]

“Ad te suspiramus gementes et flentes,”

August, 18th, 2555…

Unknown System…

One Astronomical Mile from closest star…

UNSC Forti Animo… (Orion Class Assault Carrier)

Subdeck #3-B Infantry Housing Quarters (Bravo Company)...

UNSC Army Sgt. Grayson Maxwell - SN: #33154…

0445 hours…

And so here I lay, covers drawn over my body, with my mind completely doused in a cloak of deep sleep. It was an amazing feeling, a near liberating feeling knowing that when I awake I would be meet with a great commotion amongst not only me, but a commotion that will rock from one side of this ship to the otherside. Our platoon sergeant once said, when we first became a platoon all those years ago,

“The sun shall never set on the UNSC,” and it is our duty as it’s right arm of aggression and deterrence to ensure that statement stays true. But, sleep is good for now anyway. Something that is paramount if we are to do our duty. Luckily I was getting plenty of it, whether I liked it or not.

Months upon months, turned to years I have waited for a day like today, a day that humanity has been waiting for. A chance to show the universe and the trillions of people and other worldly species that we are more than just a wall of bureaucracy with fancy guns and super soldiers. This was a chance to clear our name, a chance for good and righteousness, an opportunity that would likely change how the whole universe views us. For as of right now, I am writing history.

A whole new chapter in human expansion. Something that must be recorded and remembered for all time. No matter how far we stray from our Mother, no matter how far Humanity’s influence strays we must always remember where we have come from, and the lessons we have learned in doing so. It is up to us, as not just soldiers but as beating hearts and intelligent beings, to make sure this happens. So as the lights break open inside the barracks and the whole room is illuminated once again, the day of days begins for the entirety of the UNSC.

There was a few seconds of jaded movement amongst the racks, then with the snap of a silent finger, me and the soldiers of Bravo 1-1 Platoon, spring into action. As if a switch was thrown, an electric kind of excitement was propelled into the room through the walls by an unseen but completely sentient force, that threw the soldiers from their bunks and forced them through their daily routines at a hurried pace. I followed along just like them, tossing my body from the rack, and began my morning rituals of getting ready. Voices could be heard all around me, some were loud and jumbled together and filled with excitement, while voices near me were quieter. The voices I gave any inkling of thought to was the conversation I was now having with Kowalski, of which he started of course.

“Let’s go, shit-head, get your ass in gear and shake that rack fever out. We got shit to do today and I don’t need a repeat of last week.” The surprisingly quick on his feet and nimble for his size sergeant said to me as his hands skillfully glided over his disturbed and wrinkled covers as he remade his bed.

I looked over at him with the most adrenaline filled smile I could muster and nodded quickly, as my bunk was finished being made in probably record time.

“Ooooh ho ho ho…” I chuckled lightly, reaching down to my footlocker and retrieving my toothbrush and toothpaste while slipping my black rubbery sandals on my feet, “Trust me, I couldn’t fall asleep if you took a bat to my head and drowned me in gasoline.” I said at the ready beside my bunk, standing straight waiting for the rest of my squad to finish up.

He looked back at me and gave a, ‘Yeah okay pal,’ look at me while he rolled his eyes.

“Mhm, okay sure you keep telling yourself that.” He says as he was just finishing up fixing his bed.

I turn away from him with a extremely sarcastic roll of my eyes, refocusing on the soldiers to the left of me, which was the infantry in my squad. The soldier closest to me was a sergeant, a soldier by the name of Tony McChesney. He was a textbook infantryman, everything about him looked as if it were ripped straight from a promotional poster, even more so right now than ever before. He stood there at attention, his chest puffed out and his chin held high. His hands were constantly gripped together into fists, and his muscles always looked flexed, as if he were trying to make himself look bigger then he really was. Of course, this was hard for him, seeing how his nickname was, ‘Short Staff.’

He was shorter than the average man, coming in at a whopping 5 feet, and 6 inches, putting him to be the shortest man in not only the squad, but the whole platoon. But, he made up for it in his actions. He was a straight edge, I mean straighter than straight enough that you could cut yourself just by standing next to him. He was, to quote my squad sergeant, “Too hooah for the army,” and it showed.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good soldier and we need more of him, but he’s a bit too straight. But good enough for me.

Time passed us by lightning fast, as if the universe pressed the past forward button. After roll call was taken and submitted we rushed to the washroom. The whole platoon went in squads, first my squad, which took no more than fifteen minutes to brush our teeth, wash our faces, and our bodies in the shower room. All the while feet pounded on the deck, soldiers rushing every which way getting themselves ready for the day going through their routines. After the shower, came the lockers.

My squad entered the locker room, dripping wet from the showers’ hot cascade of clean recycled water, with black towels wrapped around our wastes, bodies still semi-damp. The air smelled of body wash, and deodorant a definitely pleasing smell knowing that at least the soldiers were taking care of their bodies as much as me and Kowalski had stressed them to do so. The air was cloudy and foggy with a damp mist that rose and covered the ceiling lights slightly from the steam and hot water that still streamed in the shower section behind us. We walked in two columns, divided by a long black bench in the center of the room. We walked in such a way that, when we stopped, all of us would be facing our lockers without needing to trade places with someone.

The lockers were a light green and each one housed breathing holes, a black UNSC logo, our respective names, and a four number keypad lock that unlocked the door. I reached mine and instantly began to put in my pin, no time to make small talk not even with the soldiers next to me, and especially not with Kowalski. My fingers glided across the keypad, the numbers of my password being entered as fast as I could. Upon pushing enter, there was a few seconds of nothing, silence, then a small beeping sound, and a click telling me that the locker was open.

Quickly after I heard the tone, I lifted the handle and opened the locker as fast as possible swinging the door away from me, but keeping it from slamming into the soldier next to me, of which was Tony.

There before me illuminated by a small white light inside the locker housing in the top, was my uniform. The green Battle Dress hung from the left side by a metal hanger, that held both the shirt and pants. My white undershirt hung on the opposing side of the uniform from a similar hanger. My black boots sat next to one another on the base of the storage container, and there next to them, was a fresh pair of socks, of which were colored a creamy white. Next to them was a pair of underwear, that sat next to the socks in a tight roll. I smiled seeing that the uniform was still freshly pressed, and held little to no wrinkles along my name, rank, and divisional patches.

I quickly got myself dressed trying to draw as little attention to myself in the locker room that I could, as I dropped my towel in the now very crowded confined space, almost rubbing my bare shoulders up against the infantryman next to me.

After only ten minutes I had my whole uniform on, the only thing left to do was to blouse my boots, and lace them up which I was doing as fast as I could. I worked fast and diligently as I got myself ready for the day. My eyes never left the floor, never looking around, for I dare not break concentration, it was almost a race. And before I knew it my boots were done, and I was staring at myself in a mirror that was hanging from inside my locker door, checking my collar and making sure everything on my uniform was as squared up.

Once I was done I stared at my reflection for moment. I looked around my face, my eyes, my lips, my brows, and finally my teeth, watching and feeling my tongue cross over my front biters, as if testing if they were sharp, like some kind of hungry wild animal.Then I smiled with a full grin, bearing my crystal white teeth to myself, my brows arching down a bit over my eyes, a sinister smile looking back at me. My light green eyes stared back into mine, as if I was trying to intimidate myself, imagining I was an enemy soldier and this was the last thing I saw before death.

I only did this for a moment, doing it as a mere reminder to myself of who I was, and what I was. But as I reached into my locker and grabbed my soft cap, the smile didn’t leave my face. Excitement took over as the soft cap slid onto my head, feeling it hug my scalp, as I straighten the brim to temples. I was done, I could finally face the day, and the excitement that it was going to bring. I turned away from the locker and shut the door quickly, making sure it locked itself up, only for my vision to be filled with the body with another soldier. Kowalski of course. He too was finished as he fit his soft cap onto his head.

His uniform fit just as well as mine, despite the vast differences in our body types, his being more muscular, and taller than mine. He looked at me and raised a brow wondering why I was looking him over, before winking at me and biting his lip, as if saying, ‘Like what you see?’

I rolled my eyes and let out a playfully annoyed sigh as I flipped him off.

I turned around to again find another soldier in their uniform. It was McChesney, he had just shut his locker, and was straightening out his uniform, to the point of almost a compulsive nature. Unlike most soldiers in our unit, he had mastered the art of symmetry, for both sides of his body were damn near identical. His body and head turned up as his eyes looked into mine as he finally stopped fidgeting with his uniform, placing his now closed fists along the seams of his pants.

“You ready there McChesney?” I asked him, looking over his perfect uniform. He almost clicked his heels together when he replied.

“Yes sergeant, I’m squared away and ready to move.” He said in a higher pitched voice, and a quick nod of his head. I had told him, countless times before and i’ll probably tell him again, that he doesn’t need to call me by rank all the time yet, he still hasn’t called me anything else, so I just roll with it.

“Alright then.” I turned around to see Kowalski fixing his collar. “How about you?” I asked him, watching him as he worked. He didn’t lift his head up but he spoke, his voice being practically singled out in the room with its deep base. “Ready for what? For the day, or deployment?”

“Both,” I asked him tilting my head to the side, resting my hands on my hips. He nodded his head softly a few times then lifted his brows, finally looking me in the eyes again.

“Then yes, I’m ready to leave this fucking floating tin can, and feel real air on my skin, instead of filtered stale recycled air.” He said back.

I could agree with him there, as much as I admired the technological marvels of the UNSC Navy, it was going to feel good to have real air on my skin, knowing that the air was at least from a planet, instead of a machine.

“Then let's get a fucking move on then.” I said to him, looking behind him to the door that led outside into the hall, the final veil of passing that I needed to go through before we left our lockers for the last time.

He turned around slowly, taking this time to take a headcount of all the soldiers in our squad, ensuring that they were all in their uniforms, and ready to go. Seeing that they were, he turned around and marched our squad outside the locker room, and into the hallway, and along the closest wall to our left, as we waited patiently for the rest of our platoon. All the while we looked around the hallway and watched the other platoons of our company exit their locker rooms, all in their BDU’s and soft caps, all of varying heights, skin tones, and gender, but all looking uniform.

Roughly 45 minutes later our entire company was ready. Bravo platoons 1-1, 1-2, and 1-3 were lined up against the walls of the hallway, as some soldiers swapped conversation with each other. Loudspeaker announcements came on above us once and awhile, of course none of which applied to us specifically, so none of us cared. Maintenance personnel, deck officers, and crew members walked in between us, all of which were talking as well, not to us of course to the people they were walking with, though some did stop to say hello.

The crowd of neatly lined up soldiers hummed with an electric feeling of excitement as the soldiers talked each other up. Time seemed to pass slowly, as a period of waiting had come. We waited, and stood around, most of the soldiers exhausting everything they could have talked about in mass, as now only a hand full of soldiers talked.

Then the time of waiting came to a close as a group of soldiers approached us from down the hall, rounding the corner from the right. There were five of them, three lieutenants walking in a triangular formation, one captain leading them at the front, and a company sergeant following behind the captain.

The captain’s name was Hawke. Captain Gregory Hawke. He carried with him a presence that could silence an entire company of soldiers, of which he did without even uttering a word. The soldiers around me became wood, straight and silent. They all turned their heads towards him and froze in place. Everyone could feel him nearing them, as if he irradiated a feeling of all mighty power to those that he approached, as if he could melt steel with his piercing gray eyes and boil blood with his words. He was Charismatic, and the wisest of the wise, and he had seen more combat then all of us combined. With him also came a countless number of rumors.

Some say that he was given the chance to become a Spartan, multiple times, but he denied the request, time and time again in order to stay with his friend, the company sergeant, First Sergeant Barney Varnette. Others say that he was an ODST and was in the marines for the beginning of his military career, some say he fought with Spartan John 117 back during the human Covenant war.

Some also say that he’s committed humanitarian war crimes in the past, under special orders from shadowy individuals in the United Earth Government and other shady Intelligence agencies while the Army turned a blind eye to it. But whoever he is, he’s our commanding officer, and the soldiers that were under his command, were glad that he was because he was the bravest of us all.

He stopped at the front of the group, but the three lieutenants didn’t, walking past him in almost robotic fashion, and took the helm of their platoons, standing in a space specifically left for them in their lines. The entirety of the company saluted to the captain, in complete silence. And with his words, “At ease,” and a salute of his own, we relaxed our arms and stood there at an uneasy attention.

His face was sort of soft looking, yet foreboding, as if looks could be deceiving in his favor. Yet across his left eye was a pink fleshy scar, that had healed a long time ago, yet left its mark on his face, and of course that scar came with its own rumors. He nodded his head, and performed an about face, turning away from us. We watched him carefully, and only moved when he did, and soon enough he was marching us towards the cafeteria.