Halo: Indelible Past/Chapter Eight

Then

It had been nearly half an hour, and the others were getting angry.

They came at him again, three at once this time. That was how things were done in the sparring ring; if one guy got too uppity, won too many times, than the rest ganged up to take him down a peg. Those were the unwritten rules of naval training grounds, and Hector was more than happy to live by them.

It had been a long time since the boy in the woods had picked off his monster of a father. After that, there had been a long, dreary stretch of orphanages and foster homes, a pointless quest to find someone who would take the Thornhill orphan in. None of it had mattered to Hector in the slightest. He'd known before he'd even pulled the trigger where he'd go when all was said and done. He'd known them from the trial, the people who had let his father get away with butchering his mother.

The armed forces of the UNSC were where he'd make his mark. They had the power, the power to shape the colonies and, as the indoctrination process back in his recruit days had put it, "forge humanity's destiny among the stars."

Those days as a crewman were also over, yet another step in his path towards making something of himself. His superiors had been impressed by the ambitious recruit, a young man who buried himself in his work and then somehow found the time to study everything he could get his hands on: history, politics, mathematics, weapon systems, and anything else that the UNSC said was meaningful. They'd put him on a fast track to officer candidacy, and from there it had been just another rat race.

Of all the things Hector had learned since that night in the forest, that discovery had been the most sobering. No matter what they disguised it as, everyone he'd met had been just another bundle of meat and ambition desperately seeking meaning behind a flag and sets of ideals. These guys up against him in the sparring ring weren't any different; taking him down a notch wouldn't help the UNSC, just sooth their battered egos and give them something to brag about.

The first guy came in fast from the front while the other two split up and tried to come in from either side. Hector slid back, out of the flankers' reach while the first one carried on after him. A quick kick to the chest, followed by a jab to the throat, sent him sprawling.

The other two didn't hesitate, jumping over the fallen man and attacking in unison. Hector simply fended off their attacks, ignoring the cries from his aching arms and legs, then stepped in and smashed a fist into one's jaw while bringing his knee up into the other's gut. Both stumbled against the matt's ropes, momentarily disoriented. Hector considered smashing their heads together for good measure, but decided against it.

Too flashy, and they'd never rest until they'd paid him back for a humiliation like that.

Shaking their heads in both pain and frustration, all three slid out of the ring. "Haven't you had enough, lieutenant?" one of them called. "Give someone else a chance up there."

Hector forced a laugh and leaned against the ropes. "One more go," he announced to the small group that had formed around the ring. Everything he did around here was calculated, another step towards building an image and projecting the person his superiors wanted to see. Determined, but not crazy. Confident, but not arrogant. It was hard, but then again, everything else in his life had been that way as well.

The battered special warfare operatives just waved him off. No one else wanted to take a beating from him. Hector shrugged and lifted the ropes to let himself out.

"Lieutenant," a voice called out. "Mind if I go in with you?"

Hector turned to see a young dark-haired man sliding into the ring. He recognized him as one of the newer inductees into the NAVSPECWAR training program. The last name Martel was stenciled onto his exercise jumpsuit. Several of the surrounding men laughed.

"This oughta be good..."

"Did one of you assholes dare him...?"

"Five creds says he doesn't last five seconds..."

Hector eyed the newcomer warily. The men around them might not be bright enough to realize it, but the young man had him in a bad situation. He'd been going for thirty minutes now with very little time to breathe in between matches. Losing to one of the veterans was one thing; that had happened plenty of times in the past. But if he slipped up and lost to some kid fresh out of OCS, his reputation might never recover.

He'd studied wolves back before enlisting. The alpha wolf was always the toughest, meanest one in the pack, and the younger ones were always lining up to pick fights with him in the hopes of claiming his position.

Hector Thornhill had no intention of being anything but the top dog wherever he went

So he didn't join the teasing and didn't throw in any casual bravado as he returned to the center of the ring. His body was aching and his breaths were coming in steady pants; this couldn't go on for more than a minute before he started making mistakes. He'd finish this quickly.

But as the young man moved to face him, Hector saw something different in his dark eyes. This guy wasn't out to supplant him, to win bragging rights amongst his peers. This guy was after something different, and that made him even more dangerous.

"Right then," Hector told him, readying his fists. "Let's go."

The kid obligingly lunged in, and Hector found himself stepping back to avoid a flurry of punches and kicks. Normally he'd have blocked one and come in with an incapacitating counter attack, but this guy just wasn't letting up. It was only when Hector's back was to the ropes that the kid let up and he was able to throw in some shots of his own.

Instead of blocking, the kid just dodged, darting to either side and still managing to throw in more punches. Some of them even landed on Hector's aching chest.

Damn, Hector realized with a start. I really must be worn out. The kid was running circles around him.

It was time to end this. Hector waited for the next blow, then threw his arms apart and allowed himself to be knocked off balance. The kid jumped in for another attack...

And Hector grabbed the front of the kid's jumpsuit and brought his forehead down into the young man's face.

There were groans of sympathy from the others. Blood gushed out of the kid's nose, staining the front of his jumpsuit and splattering on the mattress. Hector dropped him, and he fell to the mat in an undignified heap.

Attempting to prop himself up with his arms, the kid looked up at Hector with a mixture of pain and confusion.

"Ow," he muttered, wiping at the blood and wincing as his fingers brushed the bridge of his nose.

"You always pick fights with the meanest guy in the room?" Hector panted, taking a few steps back. "It's not a good habit to get into."

The kid crawled to his feet. "Have to start somewhere," he muttered, his voice muffled by his injured nose. "What kind of move was that?"

Hector shrugged. "The kind that knocks you down and gives me a headache," he said still fighting to catch his breath.

Still wincing, the kid lifted the collar of his jumpsuit to dab at the blood. "I'll remember that," he said. "For next time."

"You'd better," Hector retorted, limping out of the ring. "By the way, what's your first name, Martel?"

"Felix, sir," the kid replied. "Felix Martel."

"Welcome to NAVSPECWAR, Felix." It was the first time he'd ever said something like that to one of the newcomers. He was sure as hell that no one had ever said it to him.