"It's so quiet." He breathed.
The smoke was still rising. He turned to who he was talking to, Leslie-139. A proclaimed natural leader to everyone. Everyone except Apollo.
In a blaze of gunfire, the once-obscure Camp Tampa had turned from a target to an ash pile in a manner of minutes. Apollo could still smell the smoke, even from the extraction point several kilometers away.
“Leslie-” Apollo began, in a tone more thoughtful than official, which easily gave away what he was pondering.
“Don’t even think about it, Apollo.” Leslia snapped her curt reply.
No silence felt longer than the one that followed correction. Only the leaves underfoot dared to make a sound after Leslie spoke.
“Those people were traitors. They wanted to destroy the UNSC, and they were intent on killing us, whether they thought we were hostile or not. No ‘peace-loving’ separatist would intend to kill.” She spat out the word ‘separatist’ like it was a contaminant.
“You say that as if we aren’t a group of armor-wearing giants, walking right into their-”
“Who fired the first shot, Apollo?”
He couldn’t see the eyes behind her visor, but he knew they were boring straight into his own. He
turned his head forward, cocking his head upward like nothing was wrong. “They did.”
The pauses between their words stretched on longer and longer.
“I hope you knock this sentimental garbage out of your brain. You know that our entire purpose is to do what the UNSC asks. These people are separatists and war-mongers. Nothing more. Nothing less. Get that into your head, or else you’ll follow the forty others who weren’t strong enough.”
His hand tightened into a clenched fist. Leslie’s propaganda poster talk was intoxicating. ‘Separatists’, ‘war-mongers’, and the blatant disrespect towards his fellow Spartans. He wished he would have the energy to defend them, but he would much like to keep himself away from a betrayer's court-martial. Not strong enough. He silently spat at the thought. He had plenty of time to show how strong he was.
“Oy!” The third Spartan's voice came in, his gravelly, deep-seated Australian accent shining through above all else. “I’m coming in hot - three o’clock.”
Just as projected, a Pelican dropship soared overhead, coming unnervingly close to the tree line. Apollo winced as visions of damage reports flashed in front of his eyes. “You’re coming in a little close.”
“Oh, I’ve got it just fine, ‘Polla! I know this ship around like no one else!”
“Yeah, but that’s my ship you’re flying, Anton. You better watch where you’re going, or I’m not going to let you fly it again.” Apollo added, pointing a finger toward the cockpit that he knew Anton couldn’t see.
“Oh, sure y’are, ‘Polla.” Anton landed at a clearing in the trees. The suspension springs in the landing thumped together as they bottomed out. “Just like how you stopped me from using your helmet torch.”
“You what!?” Apollo stormed into the landed Pelican, climbing into the cargo bay before the door had even fully deployed.
Anton concealed a laugh as best he could as he stepped out from the pilot’s chair, holding his head down at Apollo. The brick-shaped flashlight was firmly attached to his chrome-green helmet. “Sorry, ‘Polla. Had to make some repairs to the ol’ Spnkr, and I couldn’t see well in the rocket tubes. It’s the last time, I promise.”
“It better be.” He muttered, reaching up to Anton’s helmet and yanking the flashlight off. The electrical contacts arced as he tore the thing off. He attached it to his own helmet, the magnets seating it in place with a short clang.
“Are you done now?” Leslie pushed the two aside, and climbed into the pilot’s seat. “We have intel to deliver, and I prefer to have it done soon.” She closed the bay doors, and violently took off.
Apollo pulled himself up to the co-pilot seat. “Y’know, the amount of stress that puts on the engine-”
“Is negligible and isn’t going to be repaired for twenty years,” she stated, eyes still forward.
But it’s damage nonetheless. He crossed his arms.
“Just think about it this way, Apolla,” Anton added, “In twenty years, this ship is probably going to be destroyed anyway. No need to repair!”
“Not helpful.” He muttered.
Anton crossed his arms. “Well, it’s true. These Pelican rust buckets fall apart like they’re greased.” “That is not the point! It-” He stopped mid sentence, just to realize how brainless all of these
arguments were. There’s absolutely no point arguing with them - they won’t change their minds anyway. “I’ll be cleaning my rifle.”
He could tell he was angry. His long, loud breaths with a sharp intake when he felt he wasn’t getting enough air, the way his fingers twitched and trembled without his control - It infuriated him. He knew he was angry, but it felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it.
It was by design. “Adrenaline’s fifty percent of a Spartan’s fuel.” Leslie would say. “You either learn how to use it to your advantage, or… No. There is no alternative. You use it.”
He looked down. Right—he was cleaning his rifle.
His fingers fumbled with the screwdriver, far too small for his giant gloved hands to deal with. The adrenaline wasn’t making it much better either. He opened up the chamber, and flicked on the flashlight to see in. It was already clean. But he hadn’t opened it up since last month. Why-
He remembered. He just cleaned it a few seconds ago.
Muttered curses to himself accompanied his rushed reassembly. He was certain he swapped two screws, but at this point he didn’t care. Having rebuilt his rifle, he tossed it over the seat next to him.
The door slid aside, and Leslie stepped in. Apollo knew he was in for it, just from her body language.
“Just because you were the youngest in class, doesn’t mean you get to act like one,” she said, arms crossed.
He straightened his back against the seat. “And what does that mean?”
“It means you need to stop acting like a child. As a team, we share things. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it before.”
He sneered at the sarcasm. He was certain she could see it through his helmet. “You’re telling me to forfeit the perfectly good ship and equipment to people that will break them ten times faster than I will?”
“I shouldn’t have to remind you, Apollo. Both you and your equipment belong the UNSC. They never were yours in the first place.”
“Tch.” It annoyed him how right she was. He threw his gaze away from hers. He had no more arguments to give.
It was hard not to look up to her, with her being top of the class, and awarded a second-in-command position to the MCPO. Her combat skills were like no other, and she chose an armor set that perfectly complemented her style, as multifaceted as it was. It was uncanny how much her suit reflected herself. The mauve purple color matched her eyes, too. It annoyed him how perfect she was.
“I have a feeling I’ll never get through to you,” she sighed. “I should just let you spiral off until you get reassigned to some desert planet by ONI.” A small laugh escaped her. “Maybe with a little time to yourself, you’d figure things out.”
“What a great teammate I have. Willing to throw me away just for a lesson.” Just a moment passed before he realized the hypocrisy of his sarcasm.
“A lesson’s a lesson. It’d make things easier if you just learned them now.”
He looked back at Leslie. “Well, what lessons do I need to learn?” He said with a challenge. “I think I’m just fine the way I am.”
She uncrossed her arms, and pushed herself off the wall. Her sharp words could have pierced through his armor. “Do you want a list?”
He looked back down at his rifle. “No.”