A Torch Passed

{|style="width:100%; color:#FFF;" There hadn’t been much to say when it was all over with. The Commonwealth had been able to rendezvous with a battle group after the Covenant ship was destroyed, then the Spartans were all recalled to Reach for a series of debriefings and tests to ensure all thirty-two of them were fully accustomed to their new MJOLNIR armor. It had all been so rushed that nobody, not even Doctor Halsey, had taken the time yet to say anything about the loss that now weighed heavily on their hearts and minds.
 * valign="top" style="padding:5px;"|

Jorge was sure that those who knew Sam most intimately were heartbroken, but true to Spartan form, they didn’t allow it to show in front of others. His memories of the late 034 were mostly fond ones; Sam had that rare ability to remain upbeat in the worst of times, and had been the one to encourage others to keep going when training nearly overwhelmed them. He was larger than life, a head taller than most of their group and beating Jorge himself by a few inches, and it had seemed that even a frame that huge couldn’t contain his personality.

Sam was gone now, obliterated along with the alien ship he’d given his life to destroy. It had saved all of their lives, but there wasn’t even a body to pay respects to. Just the specter of their late comrade to occupy their recollections, another ghost to add to the list. Losing nearly half the unit to the surgeries hadn’t felt nearly as visceral as this. Jorge had been too drugged and occupied with his own infirmities to dwell very deeply on the dead back then.

Now, though, he was very much awake and aware, and was quickly learning that a Spartan’s worst enemy wasn’t going to be anything faced in battle. No, it was having time to think, to dwell on things. Mendez had taught them all calming exercises, little routines to help focus their thoughts and block out distractions, but Jorge didn’t feel inclined to practice. Instead he sat slouched on his assigned bunk and kept fiddling with the deck of cards in his hands, shuffling and re-shuffling them repetitively. They were grimy and flawed around the edges from years of being stuffed inside his pockets on training missions, but that wasn’t what made them special.

What made them unique was the fact that, three years ago, Samuel-034 had given the deck to Jorge as a little gift, something to repay the favor Jorge had extended to Blue Team during a particularly grueling exercise. He hadn’t been expecting the kindness, especially from someone he considered a rival; for all Sam’s friendliness, he and Jorge would often face off whenever Gold and Blue were pitted against each other, the two unusually tall and strong boys determined to prove who was the strongest. It was Sam who usually won those contests of strength. The cards, though, had siphoned away any venom left over from that rivalry.

Jorge closed his fist around the deck. The motion sent a ripple through his arm as his muscles contracted, and his skin tightened between the scars leftover from augmentation. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt. Sad, sure, but angry as hell too. Angry that a new threat they didn’t really know how to fight properly had come along to take away even more lives, that a bunch of ugly-ass alien zealots could snuff out a life as undeserving of an end as Sam’s. Seeing Harvest had been a thing of real dread, inspiring fear he didn’t even know he was still capable of feeling. But losing Sam had ignited a fire, and he intended to use that. He couldn’t afford to be scared, now that they had all been thrown into a war bigger than anything they’d imagined.

He’d offered the cards to John-117, thinking perhaps Sam’s best friend would want to keep them as a memento. To his surprise, John had refused his offer, and admonished Jorge to not let the attachment the deck represented distract him. It had rubbed Jorge the wrong way, at least until he got a good look at the other Spartan’s eyes and saw the hollow ache there. It was then that he understood, and pocketed the cards to avoid causing his squad leader any more pain. None of them could afford to let the grief crush them, least of all John-117, and Jorge had walked away from the encounter with a newfound sense of responsibility.

It had always been Sam who took it upon himself to be the morale-booster, the immovable object, the enormous powerhouse who never showed fear to inspire courage in others. John might be their leader, but he lacked that charisma, that sheer sense of indefatigable might. Sam had been their combat multiplier, both physically and emotionally. The only person who outstripped him when it came to being personable was Kurt. Now, that source of confidence and invulnerable bravado was gone.

It’s up to you now, Sam had said that long-ago day, before he pushed his stun grenade launcher into Jorge’s hands. ''I have to stay here, so you’re gonna have to pull it off. Don’t let us down, okay? I know you can do it.''

Jorge had gone on to make several Tango Company Marines miserable and enabled Blue Team to capture the flag. They had rescued James and won the engagement, and Sam had clapped him on the back afterward. 'I knew you wouldn’t let us down, he’d said approvingly.

The memory of those words caused the young Spartan’s throat to tighten, and he drew his legs up and stretched out on the bunk in an attempt to get comfortable. He only had a few hours left to devote to resting - the day ahead would be full of practice runs with the Mark IV, and plenty of tests to make sure that he and the suit were as in-sync as they possibly could be. Rumors were floating around the squad that the Covenant had attacked more colonies, bits of overheard gossip and gravely-whispered news between indiscreet technicians who weren’t aware of the Spartans’ impeccable hearing. If the rumors were true, then the squad could be losing more people very soon. And the Insurrection was still out there, still dangerous - it was now a two-way war.

As his eyelids eased shut, Jorge thought of what Sam must have felt when he stayed behind. Killing yourself like that, taking an entire enemy vessel with you… it scared him, sure, but he couldn’t deny the way it really affected him. Sam had given everything to show his comrades the Covenant could be killed, and that with enough sacrifice, humanity stood a chance at winning. His death had torn a hole in their hearts, but the hollow was quickly filling with resolve. Jorge knew that, if he ever had to choose between his own life and the lives of those he cared about, he would be the one to stay behind and ensure the bomb went off. It was what he now expected of himself, what Sam had taught him to expect.

It’s up to you now, Sam’s voice whispered in his mind.

I won’t let you down, Jorge replied, fingers still curled around his cards as he willed himself to relax. He could feel sleep pressing at the corners of his awareness. ''Mendez always said there’s a one way trip we all make sometime or later. I’ll try to measure up to yours, alright? I’ve got this.''