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Read about the Forgotten Spartan I Program
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Sorry about the triple posting, but this is important, chapter seven is done!!! here is all of it in its entirety...
Chapter Seven
1200 Hours, January 19,2525 (Military Calendar)
Richter System, Richter VII, Camp Ulysses Officer’s
Club
Simmons arrived at the officer’s club promptly at 1200 Hours. He parked his warthog and awaited the arrival of Colonel Hastert and the ONI spooks, whose names he still did not know. When they arrived, Simmons saluted and the Colonel indifferently returned it. He brushed past Simmons and walked inside. The other officers seemed not to notice Simmons at all.
Inside, the Colonel turned to the receptionist, “We’ll take the private room,” he said to her. She nodded and started walking towards the back. Simmons was not aware there was a back room, but sure enough, they walked past the dining room, and the bar, and into a back room, completely secluded from the rest of the building. Two waiters walked in and handed them menus. They ordered drinks and the waiters left. “Well, I am sure you’d like to know why you are here,” the Colonel said.
“Yes, Sir,” Simmons replied. “Also, it may seem odd, but if the captain doesn’t mind my asking, Sir, I would like to know your name,”
The captain turned to him, “Names are not important,” he said. Simmons nodded, but felt concerned, why the secrecy, even from an ONI officer this was unusual.
“Of course, Sir,” Simmons said.
The waiters arrived with their drinks, and they placed their orders. Once they had departed the colonel spoke again, “Now, down to business,” he said, “Everyone in this room knows who you are,”
“What you are,” added the captain.
“Yes, we all know you are a Spartan I, and were the only surviving subject.” The colonel said.
“But there is something you don’t know,” the Captain said, he spoke softly, and his voice was cold. “You are not the only Spartan.”
This statement flustered Simmons, “But didn’t you just say I was?” he asked.
“We said you were the only Spartan I, but there were others after you, your successors,” the captain’s voice chilled Simmons, and he was suddenly very cold.
“Others?”
“Yes,” the Colonel told him, “There are currently seventy five subjects preparing to be augmented, they will be the Spartan II’s.”
“You understand that all of this is classified?” the Captain asked him.
“Yes, Sir, of course I do,” Simmons told him, “But why are they continuing the project, I was the only survivor of twenty subjects, why are they risking more?” Simmons asked him.
“ You were a test subject,” the captain said, “A guinea pig, you were preparation for the Spartan II’s.” The captain’s voice grew even colder, “They used you to prefect the process, so they could make changes. Spartan one was never meant for anything more than tests, you were never meant to be an asset to the UNSC.”
The thought of being called a guinea pig was repulsing, Halsey said that Spartan one was going to help save the UNSC from civil war, not help her ruin others lives as well. Simmons thought of Amacus, how he had died in a tube, a man destined for greatness, who died for a test. It was disgraceful.
The waiters repapered, carrying trays of food. As one of them laid a plate in front of Simmons, he realized he did not have much of an appetite.
The Colonel began to eat his meal, but the ONI officers just sat there.
“Where are these Spartan’s now?” Simmons asked.
“They are on Reach,” the colonel told him, between mouthfuls of food. The Captain seemed repulsed by the Colonel’s eating habits, but started to neatly cut up his meal. Simmons looked at his plate, there was plentiful helpings of meat, and vegetables, it was the most lavish meal Simmons had ever seen. He picked up his fork and tore off a piece of the meat and ate it. It was excellent. For a second Simmons forgot the hardships of being the only Spartan I to survive, about Amacus dying, about everything, but they suddenly rushed back into him. He suppressed his feelings, and tried not to make a show of them, but he was certain the Captain knew everything Simmons thought or felt.
“Sir,” Simmons said to the Colonel, “I would like to be transferred to Reach.”
This statement seemed to startle even the Captain.
“Lieutenant, your needed here,” the Colonel said.
“With all due respect, Sir,” Simmons said to him, “The rebel threat here is all but neutralized, and you have more than enough qualified officers,”
“Why?” this time, the Lieutenant spoke, he was given a cold look from the Captain, but he spoke again, “Why do you want to go to Reach?”
“I want to see these Spartans, and I wish to speak with Dr. Halsey,” there was a hint of frustration in his voice, and Simmons regretted using such a tone in front of superior officers.
“I will do what I can Simmons,” the Colonel said, “But I make no guarantees.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Simmons said.
He finished his meal and prepared to leave as a waiter walked in. He handed a data pad to the Colonel and left. The Captain looked inquisitively at the Colonel, who began to read whatever the message was. Once he was done he placed it on the table and looked at Simmons. The ONI Lieutenant reached for the Data pad, but the Captain glanced at him, and he retracted his arm.
“Well, Lieutenant,” the Colonel said, looking at Simmons, “You’re mission was a complete success. We sent a Recon team into the area, and it was completely clear, there was not a rebel in sight,”
“Thank you, Sir,”
“No the thanks is on you Simmons, your platoon has now completed two flawless missions. I am sure an outfit like yours would be welcome on Reach.” The Colonel told him. He stood up and exited the room, Simmons and the others followed.
1100 Hours, January 23, 2525 (Military Calendar) /
Richter System, Richter VII, Officer’s Barracks,
Colonel Hastert had arranged for Simmons to be transferred to Reach. His platoon would be going, as well, and they were to leave in four days on the UNSC Montgomery. Simmons was occupying himself by studying his previous missions. He looked at mission recordings, Recon assessments, and anything else he had clearance to view. He ran over the missions in his mind. He tried to figure out what went right, and what went wrong. He also checked on Private Kingsley, who had been wounded during the fighting. He was recovering, but might not be able to continue service. His left shoulder was currently immobile.
Simmons sat on his cot looking over a data pad. He was checking to see how many shots were fired during the firefight, he did not know why. There was a knock on his door. “Enter,” he said. The door opened and O’Donnell walked in.
“Sir,” O’Donnell said. He stood at the doorway, and Simmons knew something was up.
“Can I help you Corporal?” he asked.
“Sir, I was sent here to tell you, Kingsley won’t be serving with us anymore,” He said, “He is being shipped to the M2SL Recovery Station, for further medical treatment”
“Okay, when will we receive his replacement?”
“He is going to meet us on Reach, Sir,”
Simmons laid the data pad on the cot and grabbed his M6C. He holstered it and exited his room. He walked out of the Barracks, and O’Donnell followed. Simmons hopped into his warthog, and O’Donnell stood next to him.
“Hop in,” Simmons said, and O’Donnell climbed into the passenger seat.
Simmons followed the main road to the end of the base. He went through the security checkpoint and drove off. He followed a dirt road for nearly twenty minutes, and then took a sharp turn onto a very beaten path. It went upward, towards the summit of Mt. Ulysses. Once they reached a certain spot Simmons stopped the warthog. He got out and walked through ha clump off trees. On the other side was a small cliff. It overlooked all of camp Ulysses, and much more. Richter VII was sparsely populated, there was only one large city, and Simmons could see its outskirts on the horizon. There were several small towns, and one large hydroponics center, that grew all the food for the planet. The continent that Ulysses was on was the only land besides several small islands. Simmons could see the coast to the east, and there was a small river that ran all the way through Camp Ulysses. O’Donnell let out a low whistle at the sight. He looked over the base, and smiled. “How long have you known about this?” O’Donnell asked.
“Since the first day I got here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” O’Donnell just stood their, he kicked a small rock off the cliff, and watched it fall. Simmons sat down and watched the activity on the airfield. There were five pelicans preparing to send marines to the wilderness-training center.
They sat there watching the peaceful activity below for over an hour. The sun started to set, and Simmons headed for the warthog. They followed the path down the Mountain, and back into the base.
Simmons and O’Donnell visited the cliff every day until the Montgomery arrived. They discussed Reach, and what they would be assigned to do there.
O’Donnell still did not know about the Spartans, but Simmons knew that he would have to tell him someday.
[Edited on 10/10/2005]