Caesar-Speed (or, the traitorous Spartan)
Posted By: SeverianofUrth<email@example.com>
Date: 3 May 2004, 12:54 AM
Term: Caesar Speed implies the kind of speed used by Julius Caesar's mobile infantry, whose troops moved twice as fast as the other armies that existed during those days. I took it to mean in this fic (and others that I might write) the maximum speed Spartans can reach: basically, it's like a command, "Caesar-Speed" would mean to start charging (and other similar meanings)
-In Albuquerque, New Mexico-
It was inevitable, and I should have expected it. Quislings are everywhere these days; humans who took the oath of servitude to the Covenant rulers, who had on purpose forced the mankind to a last and desperate stand on their homeworld. They wanted men for some purpose not yet divined by us; so they did not immediately start glassing the entire planet, as some feared. And after a few major battle for some cities, and their subsequent defeat of the human forces, they announced, emulating human speech, how we men could be saved if only we took the oath of servitude.
It's a good deal; life goes on the same for those who took the oath, I heard. I would take it myself, were it not for the fact that I'm a Spartan, who are shot on sight by the Covenant forces. My training, hasty as it was thanks to the approaching enemy, did not ingrain into me the deep obedience that the previous Spartans received.
So I am a patriot by necessity.
We, Spartan III-C group SW, were ordered to raze the Sandian Weapons facility, who went 'quisling' after a brief stand-off with the Covenant forces. After we took back the city, they were declared official traitors; and now they are waiting in there, huddling in fear as we get prepared to massacre them.
I don't mind killing. Humans or Covenant, it does not matter to me. Whether their blood be of blue or red they gush out all the same; they have the same essential feeling.
"Caesar-speed!" The comm. links roar. We start ceremonically running towards the main complex, where the last of the researchers are hiding. The speed-meter starts climing up in my visor-screen: 10, 20, 30- soon we are running, like green, two-legged steeds. I see others running.
We reached the doorway; the camera crews are out to the back, waiting for us to pull out the quislings, and shoot them in the head. I am ordered to kill one of them with my hands; better to make examples while we still can. James bashes down the doors; screams echo in the dark halls as we grab and throw out the traitorous researchers unceremoniously.
We force them to kneel, lining up after one another, their hands to their heads. The camera crews gives me the thumbs-up; we are to begin.
I stare at the first victim, a woman of middle age, of bio-modded red-hair. I set my rifle down, and get ready to strangle her. Then I find I can't.
How can I, who myself is a hypocrite, a patriot only by necessity, blame these people for deserting the losing side?
I grab my rifle up again, the woman squealing in fear; I set it to full-auto, and fire at James. His shields weren't activated; the armor-penetrating bullets ripped right through him. And I thought, 'he was a killer, too. No remorse for the wicked.'
Mary, the other Spartan, turn, while activating her shield and getting her SMG up. But I was there first, grasping her wrist, and then knocking her down. I put the rifle right at her belly and shoot. She spasms for a while, and dies.
The Sandian researchers are running, all but few. I don't care; the Covenant should pick them up. If they don't, its not my problem.
Alarms ring out everywhere. The televising crew has reported to the military that I had gone "rampant"; and I have to wonder whether or not I really had gone "rampant."
I charged Caesar-Speed down to the aero-lot, knocked and broke a few news-crew members, and took ahold of the Warthog that we had come in. I drive away.
Other Spartans would be coming, I'm sure, or Helljumpers,
to detain me as quick as possible. But they won't bomb me -the safest way- as long as I'm with some civilians. So I head for the food-distribution center.
And as I drive, I wonder, what would I do? I can't go to the Covenant, and swear fealty- their irrational fears of green-suited soldiers, stemming from some other Spartan,
prevents me from going over to the nearest cruiser and swearing fealty. And now I am a -get this- a rampant, traitorous, murdering soldier. How worse can you get?
I monitor the comm. channels. It was as I thought; two Spartans, and a squad of Helljumpers to detain me and then summarily -again with televising- execute me.
(The guy is a evil bastard. Not that you needed telling)