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Spartans: Combat Evolved by LordofDestruction

Spartans: Combat Evolved: Prologue
Date: 5 May 2003, 3:48 AM

Note: this Fanfic isn't to be confused with the old Earth: Combat Evolved and HALO: Combat Evolved series.

Spartans: Combat Evolved: Prologue
Date: July 20th, 2558 Military Calendar

      The invasion of Earth has come, and went. With the help of Master Chief Petty Officer John-117, the Covenant fleet defected and joined humanity in their quest for survival. The success of one Spartan caused the UNSC to fund another Spartan project. Fifty thousand candidates were selected, mainly from the orphans of war. This is their story.
      One among them, was special. He was selected at the age of five because of his unique qualities. He was taller and stronger than other kids his age, and exhibited natural leadership abilities. But the most peculiar thing was that, he, unlike the hundreds of billions of other humans, had natural telepathic ability. He could, with a little work, read a person's mind and thus act accordingly. They found nine others with similar abilities, and put them together in the same unit to maximize their potential. Since they could discern what an enemy was going to do, they could have a several second speed advantage over the enemy. Once they discerned what the enemy was doing, they could tell each other on a telepathic level, further increasing their speed advantage.
      This child, designated Michael-795, was taken from his home on Alpha Centauri A on April 15th and taken to the Reach colony, where engineers, human and Covenant, had begun terraforming the planet. So far the atmosphere had been restored, and twelve percent of its surface was un-glassed. Michael, like the thousands of others selected, was taken without anyone knowing.
      This child was told that his parents had died, and that they were going to take care of him until a relative could claim. He, however, saw straight through this lie, but had a very mature attitude towards his 'duty,' to help fight the Covenant in the best way he could. Once the Spartan III candidates were rounded up, they were sent straight to Reach to begin their training. The 'candidates were broken up into platoons, which for the early years of the training was much like a very advanced elementary school classroom. Upon their arrival, they were so shocked from their kidnapping that they had no ability to resist in any form, shape or matter. The 'students' were woken up at 06:00 hours sharp. They were fed and showered as soon as they woke up, then sent to 'class.' Their schedule wasn't much different than a junior high school, and was divided into periods. They took very advanced math, science and language courses in order to bolster their survivability in combat. They were also taught how to read, write and speak in the Covenant's main language. Being able to understand their communications and equipment was very important in hostile environment. The kids then took plenty of physical education classes on top of mental education classes. It wouldn't be too pleasant to break down either physically or mentally on a hostile world where your teammates' survival is dependant on your ability to make decisions. At the end of the day they were given classes in marksmanship and field craft. Since they were only six, most of it was done with ancient 5.56mm rounds used commonly for practice shooting in the twentieth century. They spent the last part of their day playing with each other on the playground, doing paintball wars and playing tag along with many other games that helped bolster their ability to work as a team. During their history classes they watched video documentaries of military conflicts, then asked to point out what went wrong in the engagements. They were also taught about weapons and tactics that they would later use, as soon as they learned that they were never going home.

      Michael awoke with a cold shiver heading down his spine. He had just had another nightmare about his parents. He looked at his watch, which said 05:40 hours on it, so he decided to get an early start on the day. He looked at his male squad mates and the four of them were still fast asleep. His squad also had five female members, who were sleeping in a separate 'dormitory.' The rest of his platoon had just realized that they were not going home again, so had been very quiet and pouty the past few days. He grabbed his soap and uniform, and headed straight for the showers. He came out twenty minutes later, just as his squad mates heard the morning bugle, dressed in his uniform. 'Seaman Apprentice Michael-795' was sewn in on his upper left chest. The cadets were required to wear dress uniforms to their academic classes, then dress in fatigues for physical activities. He said to his squad mates in an unusually cheery tone, "Good morning. How was your night?"
      The almost unanimous reply was a low, tired sounding groan. Michael then went to his bunk and lifted the mattress up to reveal his belongings. He grabbed his math textbook and started to the mess hall. He grabbed his food, and continued to his squad's table, were he ate his breakfast, consisting of an egg, bowl of cereal with milk, orange juice and slice of toast. He vigorously devoured the food, having not eaten much the previous days due to the huge amount of stress. About fifteen minutes later, his squad mates joined him. While he had started to recover from the shock and trauma of being kidnapped, his friends had not. They were quiet and depressed, like all of the conscripts were.
      At 07:00 hours, the cadets trudged into their math class, where they were learning basic algebra. Education had came a long way since the 20th century, first graders touched on algebra now. But this group of children was special, and had already started to work out more complex algebra. By forth grade, they would be doing calculus.
      Second, third and forth periods were more academic classes: science, history and language. In science they were taught some of the Newtonian physics, which are principal to how the military's propulsion and weapon systems worked. In history they watched a recorded film clip of the retaking of Sigma Octanus, then prepared for a quiz on it. In language they started learning basic Covenant language. Then in fifth period, physical education, they played paintball wars. It was a little glimmer of fun in the otherwise gloomy day, and helped the kids get over their depression. On top of that, it helped teach team tactics, without those, they would never survive.

To be continued in: Spartans: Combat Evolved Part One: Paintball Wars

Spartans: Combat Evolved Part One: Paintball Wars
Date: 8 May 2003, 2:02 AM

Spartans: Combat Evolved Part One: Paintball Wars
Location: Spartan III Training base 'Sparta'

      The 6th platoon's Chief Petty Officer, Senior Chief Clark, walked into the cadets' briefing saying to them as he strolled in, "Well, as you know, we are having a paintball war today." He pointed to the strange looking armor on the racks in the locker room just outside of the room, "That is your gear there. It consists of a thin Kevlar flak vest, black jump suit, Kevlar leg armor and a helmet with a visor. The gear is designed to read the hits you take and tell you when you are down, three hits to the body, or one to the head or five to a limb, simple as that. Once you are down, it dissolves the paint on you suit, so you don't look like a painter by the end of the day. Also in there is your weapon, a converted MA5B assault rifle designed to fire special paintballs out of its rifled barrel. The paint balls are covered in a thin plastic coating to protect the 'ball as it moves down the barrel. The rifling shears it off at the last second, allowing the 'ball to fly free."
      He continued, "The last bit of your gear are three paint-aerosol grenades, which spray paint over a one point three meter radius. Any questions?"
      One of Michael's female squad mates, Amanda-1127, asked in a timid, "What happens if they keep shooting us while we are down?"
      Senior Chief Clark replied, "Then they are out also. Anything else?"
      Another one of his squad mates inquired, "Will it hurt?"
      He chuckled, "You'll just have to wait and see. Now anyone else?" No one answered his question, so he said, "Okay, move out and saddle up. Get with you platoon and nominate a leader."
      Upon hearing that, Michael and his platoon went into the locker room and got their gear on. Michael grabbed his paintball gun and inserted a CO2 canister into the butt of the weapon. He loaded the magazine, which used a suction to pull one 'ball out of the magazine at a time and inserted it into the barrel for firing, and then placed the magazine in the stock of the gun. He grabbed his paint aerosol grenades and started to the arena that they were using. He and his platoon assembled on the south side of the field, which was riddled with obstacles, and said to them, "Okay, lets just do our best and try not to get hit." It was really all he could say. He didn't know anything about tactics or fighting, other than the basic object was to shoot your enemy more than he shot you.
      He got behind a one and a half meter tall concrete structure, which he could climb to the top to get a firing spread on the other team. His Chief blew the start whistle, and he darted to the top of the structure and set the gun on the cold concrete. The arena was fifty meters long, and he spotted a target on the opposite side of the arena sitting on top of a rock waiting for a person to line up in his sights. Michael steadied his rifle best he could, and fired a five paintball burst at him. The 14mm paintballs struck the boy once on the arm, twice on the chest and twice in his legs. The computer pronounced him 'down,' and Michael felt great satisfaction for tagging him out first. He saw another kid level his weapon at him, so he instinctively rolled to his right, making him fall off of the structure and on to his squad mate, Amanda. She pushed him off roughly and stood back up muttering, "Jerk."
      He got up and rubbed his side and saw he had landed on a rock. He looked up and saw a faint, black object flying through the air. He instantly recognized it and yelled, "Grenade!"

      Amanda looked up at Michael's scream and saw a paint-aerosol grenade coming right at her. She ran forward, but was blocked by a small fence. She started to climb but heard a small thud followed by a loud crack. She thought as the wave of blue paint droplets coated her back, "Damn it!"
      She heard the computer pronounce her dead as well, so she sat down and cleaned some of the paint off of her weapon. She hated being here and felt angry that the people who had taken them had lied to them. She couldn't see why the other telepaths could cope with it or why they were having fun doing this. She looked behind her and saw Michael, the cheery one who had just landed on her, tossing a grenade straight over her. The grenade bounced off of a rock and landed right behind two of the 7th platoon's members, which were there first opponents. It shortly after detonated, showering them with a cascade of red paint droplets, tagging them out. He then ran up past her and placed his weapon on the fence and started shooting like mad at the enemy, trying to dull their almost unstoppable onslaught. He 'killed' two others before kneeling behind the fence. Amanda's paint showered suit had almost completely cleaned itself by then, so he got up and stood by her. She was then put back in play, so he helped her up and apologized for rolling on to her. She was about to accept his apology when a paintball caught him in the back of the head. His only words were "It figures." He sat down and reloaded his paintball gun. She charged forward, leaving him behind. She thought as she left, "If all of the boys here are this nice, it might not be that bad.

      Michael reflected on what he did. He started out timid and afraid, now he had just 'killed' five of the enemy when most of the others had only gotten one or two. A minute later, he got back up and began his almost suicidal charge on his opponent. He jumped around the corner, catching another person off guard, and silencing her with three body shots. He ran over along the perimeter of the arena and fired off fifty paintballs into a group of enemies. They had all already ducked behind a wall by the time the fifth 'ball went out, so he moved around the corner and thought what to do. He had counted at least three of them, and there were probably more, waiting in ambush. He called two of his friends to come and help him. They were there in thirty seconds. He whispered to them, "Okay, we'll all throw a grenade over the structure and shoot anyone who comes out. They nodded and grabbed a grenade each. He then said, "One three. One…two…three!" They all chucked the grenades simultaneously. The grenades caught them with their pants down, and many of the kid behind the wall ran out of the way of one grenade and into another. The grenades detonated, sending out a halo of red paint droplets on the kids. Six of them were tagged out, and Michael hit the last one, whom rolled out from behind the wall. Michael and his teammates hearts were so filled with joy that they burst out laughing. He then yelled out, "I'm on fire!", only to take fire from every remaining enemy in the area, tagging him out.

To be continued in: Spartans: Combat Evolved Part Two: Victory