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This fanfiction article, DT 2023: Give A Little More, was written by Distant Tide. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
“Are you a Spartan? Well? Are you a Spartan? Act like it! Are you a Spartan?”
Merlin-D032’s eyes glazed over as voices pounded his ears and shadows drifted in and out of his vision. Dark stars swam in his eyes but all he could do was make sure he didn’t trip over his own soaked boots. The cadre continued to shout at him after the first two kilometers of the ruck run. And there was another fifteen-eighteen-twenty more to go?
He lost track. They, the Stone Eagle mercenaries, took wider steps than the orphans assigned to their care. Any sense of fighting back or proving the cadre wrong died for Merlin two weeks into the so-called “physical acclamation phase.”
If the adults could take longer strides, what hope or point did a seven year old have at outrunning them? They had more stamina and more rage. And they weren’t Spartans, why did Merlin or anyone else think they could?
“You can give up when I say so. You finish the run or I will kill you myself!”
But then the trainers talked like that. They didn’t shut up; they found a straggler like Merlin and circled him and fellow orphans unfortunate enough to drift into his orbit. Someone called it a “shark attack,” but the other Spartan cadet – Merlin forgot who – apparently was an orphan of Marine parents. The trainer’s response to that knowledge was to run them all down harder.
“Well informed, are you? Then why aren’t you applying yourself? If you can talk, you can run in a line! Chomp-chomp-chomp! Shark-shark-shark! That’s what sharks on Alluvion sound like, right, Cadet?”
A flare of short brown hair slipped into view from ahead of Merlin, somehow aglow in the springtime drizzle, but maybe it was just familiarity. Andra-D054 slowed down and fell in alongside Merlin from her prior place in the first third of the Spartan column. She didn’t say anything and vibrated tensely under the glare of the trainers. Merlin couldn’t see her face or eyes behind her mop of hair but she bumped his shoulder and he gave a tired tap back into her elbow.
The trainers went silent for a moment, and Andra put out a hand at her waist. Confused for only a split-second, Merlin reached out but met open air. Andra suddenly yelped, yanked out of line and shoved forward by a trainer. She nearly tripped but caught herself and began to run ahead again as an instructor yelled after her.
“Dolls aren’t made to be heroes, get back in line!”
Merlin – abandoned, alone once more. Two trainers pressed in on Merlin.
“You want to take a break, huh? The Covenant sure gave us a lot of breaks in the Marines! I bet they’ll go really easy on you!”
“They’ll kill you and your friends with nice words before they spray you down with plasma!”
Andra’s appearance and disappearance wasn’t the last surprise though. Stomping boots at a pace twice of the other stragglers, Merlin’s tired eyes met the dark grimace of Daniele-D003 who circled from the other side, swept under a trainer, and nearly tripped him. As the adults screamed after the cadets, Daniele grabbed Merlin and another boy by their shirt collars and propelled them forward with a growl to match for the cadre.
“They won’t shoot you at the next live fire exercise, but I will!”
With a final shove, Daniele pushed Merlin, and apparently Daiki-D217, to the middle of the column before bolting away towards the front of the line. Three cadre followed the Spartan cadet screaming obscenities: “I’ll have your face in the mud, you shit rat! Start running your circles! I want to see your skin turn blue.”
Daniele spent the next mile running four laps around the Spartan column with the trainers on his heels. Somehow he didn’t falter despite having to sprint and slow to match the pace of the column.
If he could do it, why couldn’t Merlin? He wasn’t alone in this. Merlin tried a little harder, even as his toes felt like breaking and his lungs burned like acid. He couldn’t speak, but he and Daiki and everyone else kept running.
Years later, Merlin felt some odd appreciation for the memory. He vaguely remembered the names of his trainers, but he recalled not a single instance where they pushed him to give up.
All they wanted: “Give a little more.”