The New Reach Campaigns Chapter 6
Posted By: Gasmask
Date: 25 September 2002, 5:48 pm
Steven awoke in a dimly lit room. He saw his reflection on a shiny mirror on the opposite wall. He couldn't move. He was strapped into a chair by use of duct tape. He looked down, and he only had his boxer shorts on. They had been smart to take away his armor. It would ensure that escaping would be much, much harder. He began thinking of ways to escape, but before he could ponder for much longer, a speaker clicked on, and a crackling voice issued from it. It was low and menacing. Like the one that enemy Spartan had.
"State your name and rank, prisoner."
Steven paused. He didn't want to tell them his PIN number among the Spartans. He had to forget that information on purpose.
"My name is Steven, and I am the rank of Lieutenant, UNSC."
"What is you PIN number?"
Steven was ready. His expression turned to one of deep concentration, then said, "I don't know." He then felt pain as he had never known before. They obviously had a lie detector attached to him. He would have to just calm his nerves so that it wouldn't affect him. He took a few deep, rasping breaths, then with all his composure, said,
There was no sharp shock of pain. There was no scornful response from his interrogators. Instead, a new voice came over the com system.
"Where is you base of operations?"
Right, he thought to himself, They wanna question me? Then why shouldn't I question them?
"Don't you know all ready? Good grief, I thought that your intelligence systems would be more up to date than that."
Again, a sharp shock of pain. He was expecting this. He knew that the best thing to do now would be to not cooperate. Not give them anything they wanted. Just to make them mad. Again, the gruff voice came in over the commlink.
"Don't toy with us. Where is your base of operations?"
"Where do you keep yours? I keep mine in my pocket at all times. In..."
Again, the pain. And again, and again, and again. Four hours later, the communists had received no new information, and Steven had received severe burns. As he lay in his cell, he knew that the worst was probably yet to come. He huddled on his straw mattress, the flies, resting on his burns and agravating them. The worst would probably come later.
Stephan Steale walked the empty grounds alone. He was tired after the day's battle. He had a bullet through his left shoulder, and caught a bit of shrapnel. But he refused to stay in the hospital wing. He had to walk the grounds and patrol.
He was still brooding on the events of the day. His injuries, his kills, and his lost friends. His best friend, a Jew named Maranatha was killed in the battle. Maranatha all ways thought that his name meant "cursed." Stephan had tried to show him that it meant something much better, which it did, he just forgot what it meant. He thought it was along the lines of "the Lord is with us," but he wasn't sure. He would have to look it up.
Stephan was one of the few Christian men in the Communist party. The government had tried to regulate what the people did, and they didn't want anyone worshiping God. They wanted them worshiping themselves and the government. Stephan decided that, in this case, it was better to serve God than man. If only he could find the courage to defect.
Two days later
Stephan was patrolling the prison halls. He shouldered his assault rifle. There wouldn't be any breakouts. He stopped at one cell where a high security prisoner was kept. He could hear him talking to himself. He leaned closer.
"I can do this. I may be out of my armor, but I can do this. I can bend these bars." Stephan heard the prisoner grunting and straining in the cell. He then heard a sigh of exasperation. "No good. I'll find a way, though."
Stephan knew who was in there. It was the enemy Spartan. He was one of the ones who lead the attack. Suddenly, it came to him. This was his chance. His chance to defect. He stole away, punched out, then got his replacement to come in. He had a plan...
The next morning
Steve got up, and put on his shirt. He had spent his night sleepless, attempting to find a solution. There all ways was one. He just couldn't see it. He got off of his cot, and there was a tap on his door.
"Laundry," the man outside said. Steve grabbed his soiled and torn garments, and got ready as the guard opened the door.
"Here you..." he stopped. Inside the laundry bin was his armor. The guard held a finger to his lips. Steve understood. It was a jailbreak. He gave the guard a thumbs-up, grabbed his armor with dirty laundry, then stole back into his cell. He but on the greaves, boots, chest-plate, gauntlets, pauldrons, and his helmet. He was ready. It was time to break out, and break out his friends and supporters. He grabbed the barred window, and pulled. It came out, and he bent the iron into a spear. He thought of just one Roman proverb. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." The proverb also applied to Spartans. He kicked out the door, and ran.
To be Continued