Vigil

{|style="width:100%; color:#FFF;"
 * valign="top" style="padding:5px;"|

I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade,

When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air— I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath—

It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year

And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear... But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

-Alan Seeger, 1888–1916

Downpour
The gate creaked open, inaudible over the sounds of the storm. It wasn't particularly bad by the region's standards, but it was enough to drive anyone indoors for the night. Almost anyone. Most of the day had been spent in preparation for the yearly service.

The gate to the New Manassas Memorial plaza closed again, and latched properly. It's design had been inspired by that of the Museum of Humanity on Earth. Most of the indoor museum had already been closed off for the night. The lone figure walked calmly down the steps, unaffected by the rain that fell all around. The outdoor portion, the plaza, was available for access at any time. On a nearby wall, a security camera tracked the lone visitor.

It had been 74 years since the planet had been turned to a ball of glass by the Covenant. In that time, billions more had died, wars had been fought, great victories and losses. It had been called 'A Time of Heroes' by some. Currently, one such hero was approaching the most popular part of the two mile-long plaza, the 'Spartan Army' exhibit.

The collection of statues in the plaza had been painstakingly constructed, by human sculptors, over the last decade. Those who fought valiantly during the planet's final month before it was put to flame were immortalised in stone, while hundreds of thousands of others had their names and if applicable, ranks, added to a large wall, carved from onyx, inside the museum.

Statues of Marines, Army Troopers, ODST's, Emergency Servicemen and even civilians adorned nearly two thirds of the area. The lone visitor stopped before one. He read the plaque:

SERGEANT MAJOR T. DUVALL, 2529-2552

A jar of flowers lay at it's feet. Someone had placed them here recently. He stooped, and placed the fallen jar properly, taking care to put the flowers back in before standing up again and continuing towards his destination.

It was this section of the plaza that attracted the most visitors, and the statues here gained the most attention from the media. There were over a thousand statues here. Reach had been where the SPARTAN program has been initiated, and though in truth, only a small portion of the immortalised super-soldiers had actually been trained here.

The SPARTAN-II section came first. Many looked identical, standing over two meters tall in their MJOLNIR Mark V Armour. Many Spartans had died during the Fall of Reach. A few wore the older Mark IV armour, and fewer still wore Mark VI. The rain had let up slightly, but in the pitch blackness of the early morning, no one would have been able to see a thing. Not that it mattered. Through augmented eyes, the names on the plaques nearest were easily visible. JOSHUA-029, KEIICHI-047, VINH-030. The list went on.

Some among the SPARTAN-II's were not wearing the iconic armour, the suits that defined the warriors for nearly a century. Some were only children, dressed in plain clothes, standing apart from the warriors. They were the dropouts. The rejects. The failures. He moved on, away from their accusing gaze quickly.

Then came the largest section: SPARTAN-III. It was here that the stark difference in survivors became apparent. Most were no bigger than the SPARTAN-II children, thee only notable difference being that they were depicted in the cheaper, weaker Semi Powered Infiltration armour. Alpha Company had been active for less than a year before they had been wiped out in a single operation. Well, almost wiped out.

Standing over six feet tall, clad in heavily used MJOLNIR Powered Assault armour, was a single living SPARTAN, in a graveyard of stone. His armour, a light blue, with golden stripes along the shoulders and legs, shone, the brightest thing in the plaza. The rain bounced harmlessly off the energy shields as he looked at the plaques, each adorned with the name of an Alpha Company member. Records from decades back had been declassified, and the names of each and every member from Alpha's roster had been pulled up. When and where they were born, and their date of death.

For all but just under two dozen members, the date of death remained the same: August 2nd, 2537. Commander Martin-A136 stood before the memorial to his fallen brothers and sisters, glancing to the silent armies of Beta and Gamma companies on his right, as well as the titans of SPARTAN-II. He checked the local time on his HUD, and removed his helmet, exposing himself to the cold wind and rain.

The storm had calmed down through the Spartan's walk through Memorial Plaza. Possessing augmented night vision, the Spartan could see everything clear as day. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, now a very light grey colour. The bright blue eyes on his heavily lined face surveyed the scene, years of harsh military training keeping him from shuddering at the chill in the air.

Martin breathed in deeply, and let out a long sigh. He felt like he had been holding that one in for over half a century, keeping his thoughts mainly to himself for all these many, many years of war. His shoulders sagged, a little. He shook his head, as if dispelling an evil thought, and put his helmet back on. The familiar heads up display greeted him. He checked the time again: 4:30am. According to the information he had been given, the ceremony would begin at 7am, August 30th, 2626.

Martin looked around in the darkness. He had wanted to arrive early. Pay his respects. He was feeling pretty damn good. How many others could say that at a hundred years old? The Spartan took out his rifle. It was heavily customised after a good few decades of usage. He placed the butt on the ground, and both hands on the barrel, leaning on it like a walking stick. For what felt like the first time in his life, he had a few hours of spare time, his time.

Martin was going to remember everything.

Payback
That would be the whole point, the man had said. 95 years ago, recruiters from the Office of Naval Intelligence had visited many of the orphanages set up in the wake of heavy Covenant attacks. Six years, millions dead. Martin could barely remember his homeworld of Harvest. He had never truly known his parents. He had been too young when Harvest was glassed. The orphanage was the only life he had ever known.

One thing he did know, that he and all the others there knew, was who had burned their homes, killed their families: the Covenant. The very word angered the children there. Four days after a seemingly routine blood test, the men and women in black suits had returned, and began questioning some of the kids.

Martin watched the hushed conversation from the bunk next to his. The man seemed to be questioning the kid there. Daniel, his name was. Eventually, they seemed to come to some kind of agreement. They shook hands, and Daniel was led out of the room. Then the man approached Martin, glancing down at a datapad as he did so.

"Martin?"

"Yes?"

"Hi. My name is Major King. I'm with the Office of Naval Intelligence. We-"

"I thought you were in the Navy?"

"Excuse me?"

"Major isn't a Navy rank" Martin recalled the lessons on the UNSC Military. The orphanage was partially run by them, and so the children were educated about them in detail. He wasn't sure whether to trust the man or not.

"You're a sharp one, kid. No, I'm not in the Navy, but I do work for ONI"

"What do you want with me?"

"You were born on Harvest, correct? Lost your parents and brothers in the glassing? Grew up here?"

Martin nodded solemnly. No one brought up the subject of parents around here.

"Well, do you know who killed them?"

"My family?"

"Yes"

"It was the aliens, the Covenant. They did it"

King smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile that told you the person was up to no good. King continued.

"How does that make you feel, Martin?"

"I dunno. Sad, I guess"

"So, are you going to let them get away with it? Let those aliens, the ones who murdered your family, who ruined any life you would have had on Harvest, get away scot-free?!"

This made his blood boil. "No!" He yelled, louder than he expected to. People in the dorm were starting to stare. King's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I am giving you a chance for payback. You want that?"

"Payback? Like killing the Covenant?"

"Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. What do you say?"

Martin was troubled. One part of him desperately wanted vengeance against the monsters that had stolen everything from him, but a little voice inside kept telling him not to trust him.

"What if I don't go with you?"

"Then you stay here. Who knows what will happen? Like I said Martin, payback. You've got nothing to lose"

He was right. What future did he have here? He had no family, very few real friends, and indeed, nothing to lose. He had what he wanted right in front of him: vengeance.

"Sign me up, sir"

This time, King smiled for real. He checked something on his datapad, tousled Martin's short brown hair, and stood up.

"Excellent. Just follow my associate and she'll take you where you need to go"

A woman, also in a black suit, stood a few meters away. She smiled warmly and held out her hand for Martin as he approached. Glancing back, King was approaching another kid in his dorm, Kai. He took the woman's hand, following in her wake as she led him out of the orphanage, and towards a new life.

Chance
4:57am.

Within the New Manassas Memorial Plaza, a lone sentinel stood to attention, both hands still planted on his rifle. Martin looked over the stone statues of Alpha Company. They had been the first family he had ever known. He had trained with them, ate with them, fought alongside them in battle.

Now there was nothing left; a silent army, most still children in armour. Martin looked to those who survived the decimation. A dozen figures, gifted with MJOLNIR Armour that offered them a better advantage on the battlefield than SPI. He had been one of those lucky few to live through it all. Standing tall, just in front of the children, were the SPARTAN-III's who lived. The platoon of survivors. Team Upsilon, and Team Tau.

Throughout the years, Martin had often wondered why they had survived so long, why they had not fallen with the others. Was it luck, or skill? Even within Alpha Company, Martin and his closest comrades had forged a bond of teamwork. Though they may not have always came first in competitions, they had always made it through together. They would never leave another behind. As Martin's first ever friend had once said: "We all go home, or nobody goes home". Those words, said long ago by a man long dead, had stayed with him forever.

It had been nearly a month since he had been plucked from the orphanage, along with a dozen others. They had picked up more recruits from other places, all orphans like Martin. They had been subjected to several tests during this period, mainly written ones or quizzes. Most of the other kids hadn't spoken much to him. They had their own problems. Martin just wanted to learn how to kill the monsters.

Martin had kept his head down and done as instructed by the men from the Navy. He hadn't seen Major King since the orphanage. One day, however, they had finally been taken down to a planet. By this time, there were several hundred others that had been collected from all across the colonies. Martin was packed into a tiny ship with others from his group, and sent down to the planet.

On the way down, all he could do was try not to throw up as the ship rattled towards the planet. It was a terrifying experience, being cooped up in a cramped, windowless box with twenty other kids. Martin finally looked up, reasonably sure he wouldn't spray everyone with his lunch, and glanced around at the others. He recognised the boy across from him. He had been at his orphanage!

"Hey!" Martin called over the rumbling of the dropship and the shouting of the others. The kid glanced up at him. He was probably having the same sickness problems. He managed a little smile, and gave a weak thumbs up before staring at his feet again.

Eventually, the ship touched down. Martin and the others spilled out onto the grass. There were other ships too, setting down and unleashing their noisy cargo onto the field. Martin stayed near the dropship, not sure what to do. The kid he recognised was last to get out.

"Hi" said Martin. There were a lot of strangers here. He'd need a friend. The only response he got was the sounds of the other kid being violently sick onto the grass. He got up, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Sorry about that" He said. "I'm Kai"

"Martin. So, you wanted to kill some aliens?"

"More than anything"

Two navy men approached them. Nasty-looking batons hung from their belts. The two were herded towards the main crowd. As they got close to the mass of shouting, screaming children, the men backed off a little. Martin listened to them.

"Whew, glad that drop is over. Where were yours from?"

"Harvest, I think. Pretty quiet compared to the other kids"

"You're telling me. I got saddled with a load from Eridanus II. I swear, some of these kids are damn psychos, man"

Martin hoped that he wouldn't run in to any of these 'psychos'. He was here to learn how to kill aliens. A loud rumbling sound cut off his train of thought and he froze. The crowd of children fell silent. Across the field, a giant stood before them.

The giant towered above everyone else, even the tough-looking military guys. He was clad in shining green armour from head to toe, his face hidden behind a reflective visor. At that moment, he was everything Martin aspired to be.

"Attention Recruits". The Giant's voice boomed across the field. At least he sounded human.

"I am Lieutenant Ambrose. You have all endured great hardships to be here. I know each of you has lost loved ones on Jericho VII, Harvest, and Biko. The Covenant has made orphans of you all"

Unexpectedly, Martin found himself welling up with tears. Why? He never cried, at least not in front of people. He blinked several times, determined to be strong like the Lieutenant.

"I am going to give you the chance to learn how to fight, a chance to become the best soldiers the UNSC has ever produced, a chance to destroy the Covenant. I am giving you the chance to become like me: A Spartan".

A chance. That was what the Major had said to him back at the orphanage. Martin imagined himself in the same armour as Lieutenant Ambrose, wiping out thousands of aliens as he avenged those he had lost. He could think of no better way to spend the rest of his life.

"We cannot accept everyone, though". These words filled Martin with dread. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he failed some way? He couldn't let that happen.

"We have three hundred training slots. So tonight, Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez has devised a way to separate those who truly want this opportunity from those who do not".

Another man, smaller than the Lieutenant, but looking tough as nails, observed a datapad handed to him for a second before looking up at the hundreds of children.

"You want to be Spartans?" he barked, his voice every bit as loud as the intercom-enhanced Lieutenants. "Then get back on those ships"

Martin groaned internally. Not flying... Mendez began questioning kids nearest to him if they wanted out. They both shook their heads, and with a rumble, the children-no-trainees began heading for the dropships. Martin and Kai ran faster than the others, straight for the ship they had touched down on. They bundled into the back, closely followed by over a dozen others.

Within minutes, they were in the air again. This time, however, the back hatch had been left open. The Drill Instructor had passed out strange backpacks to the other trainees. Martin made sure it was securely fastened to his back. He wasn't going to fail.

The Instructor was shouting orders at them from the rear of the dropship. They were fairly easy to remember. Count to ten, pull handle. Even at six years old, Martin could manage that. After a few more minutes, the time came for them to jump out into the cold night sky. He'd been preparing for this mentally the moment the hatch didn't close when they took off.

One by one, they were ordered to jump. Martin was second from last. Another trainee stood behind him, whistling impatiently as they were made to jump. Four children refused, and were made to sit back down without a word. Kai gave Martin another thumbs up, and jumped, dissapearing as the wind caught him. Now it was his turn.

Martin gulped, looking down. The ground seemed so far away. Was he going to do this? If he had any chance at all of becoming a Spartan, he had to. Why weren't his legs moving?

Someone patted him on the back in a friendly way. It was the trainee behind him. "Don't worry mate, you can do it!". His accent sounded strange, yet familiar. Martin could do it. He grinned, and jumped, just as Kai had done moments before. It was all a spinning world of stars, trees, and mountains. Pull the handle! A voice yelled inside him. He grasped it and tugged with all his might, letting out a sigh of relief when something unravelled from his backpack.

He slowed down. Using the ropes with the parachute, he tried to steer himself back to where they had taken off. Ignoring the wind tugging at his clothes and whipping his face, he concentrated on the lights of the field they had taken off from, far below. He wouldn't be the first down, there was no doubting that, but he had made it, at least.

Hitting the ground didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Scrambling with his pack, he unclipped the parachute and attempted to stand up. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he fell to his knees. Then he was sick. A lot. As he picked himself up, two others approached him. One of them was Kai.

"Did you see me? I nearly hit the Lieutenant!" He jerked a thumb back towards where the huge Spartan stood, sounding half amazed, half terrified. He looked down at the sick. "At least I wasn't the only one, right?"

Martin nodded. He didn't have it in him to say anything at the moment. The other trainee stood, smiling at the pair of them. Martin looked at him. He had black hair, slightly longer than his. He seemed to radiate confidence.

"Told you that you could do it" he said.

There was a brief moment of recognition. Martin knew this guy!

"Daniel?" He asked. He nodded. "Good thing that the three of us are here, right?"

"Damn right" said Kai.

The three of them looked around in awe. Everyone had made it down safely, as far as they could see. The DI's were beginning to shepherd the others towards a row of bunkhouses. He stared at Lieutenant Ambrose for a few seconds. The Spartan, who had been standing stock still as the trainees landed, glanced his way and nodded approvingly.

Martin, Daniel and Kai joined the other trainees in the walk to the bunkhouses. They were tired, cold and hungry, but happy. This was their family now.

FNG
5:23am

The Spartan opened his eyes. He had lost himself in memories and dozed off for a little while. He had fought for three days straight before. He needed to keep himself awake now. On the battlefield, it had been easy. The thrill, the adrenaline and the fear kept your senses heightened and your mind alert, always poised for action. It was not the case here.

Martin had come to resent inactivity over the years, the crippling pain of having nothing to do, no mission, no target to be sent at. Most of the other Spartans were the same. When not fighting, they had to keep themselves busy. Personally, Martin found that disassembling and reassembling his gun would only work so many times to sate his restlessness.

Placing his well-used rifle behind his back, Martin finally shifted from his stance, walking around the army of small statues that represented his old comrades of Alpha Company. He arrived at the smallest group: those in MJOLNIR armour. He didn't need to read the name plaques at the feet of each one to recognise them. He had spent fifteen years of his life fighting alongside them. They were all heroes.

Not all of them were here, however. One had yet to be immortalised in stone alongside his brothers and sisters, the other stood on Earth, alongside the fallen from another pointless war. One day perhaps, Martin would be honoured like this, recognised for his services to humanity. The SPARTAN-III Program was never intended to be made public, but as the old Spartan knew all to well, intentions would change over the years, details long since classified would be come out. He placed his armoured hand on the nearest statue. It had been many, many years, but he could still recall his voice as though it were only yesterday...