Welcome to the second installment in the War Games series! The first story was a romance/action one; this will follow more the lines of action/adventure. As a refresher: it is currently several years after the end of the Human-Covenant War. Humans and Sangheili have a working Alliance, which includes the Grunts (though they stay on their homeworld) and Huragok. The Yanme'e have all returned to their planet and refused to consider contact with the outside planets ever again. The Brutes and Hunters have formed the Old Covenant; the Prophets have all been assassinated or are under heavy guard on the Brute homeworld. The Jackals are pirates who prey on and sell to both sides of the uneasy truce.

John, Kelly, Linda, and Fred have been living in sort of a limbo between their Spartan II (feared invincible super-soldier) and personal lives, trying to find a balance. Fred and Linda paired off, followed by John and Kelly. On a vacation (yes, a vacation) with former Admiral Terrence Hood, his wife Wendy, and their three children (Jonathan, Lucy, and Kade), their ship was ambushed by Jackal pirates. All hands were lost except the four Spartans and the three children; John was seriously injured in the retaliatory attack he led once the kids were safely on Kalgarro, a civilian colony on Jupiter's moon Io. John and his Spartans were ordered to wipe out the Jackal pirates and John decided to initiate the attack by preying on pirate ships returning to Eayn, the Jackal homeworld. He was made acting captain of the Odysseus II and commands a full complement of volunteer Marines, Spartan IVs, and Helljumpers.

One issue may cause some confusion. The timeline was skewed slightly; it took two weeks, supposedly, for the White Dove to travel from Earth to Kalgarro. Please accept my apology for not fixing this and take it on faith. The Odysseus II will take fifteen days to travel to Eayn, which is a hell of a lot farther. This could be explained by experimental faster Slipspace engines but, instead of attempting to make this realistically believable, I choose to simply pretend the two weeks from Earth to Kalgarro was due to the much slower engines of the White Dove. The Dove was, after all, a civilian ship.

I hope you enjoy. Please review with your thoughts and comments.

Chapter 1: A Day in the Life of a Captain

"Good morning, Captain," Maximus said, waking the Spartan.

"Morning." John rolled onto his back and then sat up. "Lights on." The lights slowly brightened. He stood.

"You have several meetings today, sir," Maximus informed him as John crossed to the bathroom. "Master Chief Kite has requested your presence at her training session this morning. Dr. West would like to discuss possible augmentations to the Rabbit Team to enhance their reaction times at 1000 hours. Crewman Schwartz has sent his report and it is filed in your desk when you're ready to read it. Master Chief Sierra-058 has requested a meeting to discuss her efforts with the pilots and reassignment to a sniper squad – I scheduled her for just after lunch. Master Chief Slaughbaum will present his team's report on their progress in hand-to-hand at 1500 hours, followed by Master Chief Tuckkit. Then you have duties on the bridge until 1900 hours. Master Chief Leranson has an idea for integration techniques that haven't yet been tried and would like to go over them with you sometime today."

"Schedule Leranson for 1100," John ordered around his toothbrush. In the past week of Slipspace travel he had gotten quite comfortable with his dual duties as Spartan soldier and Captain of the ship.

"Yes, sir."

John quickly showered, shaved, and dressed in his training gear. He trotted into the hallway and found Kelly leaning on the wall waiting for him.

"Morning, Captain," she said cheerfully, trotting alongside him.

"Morning, Master Chief," John replied. Kelly accompanied him in companionable silence to the gym and then they went their separate ways; Kelly to the running track with the Rabbits and John to Kite's group, gathered along one wall of the gym.

"Atten-hut!" Kite barked as John walked up. The soldiers snapped into crisp salutes; John returned the salute.

"At ease," he ordered. "Master Chief." He shook Kite's hand and then stepped into line with the rest of the Spartan IVs.

"Alright, Spartans, find a partner," Master Chief Kite barked. John turned to the man to his right and nodded in greeting. His name tag read Lichtenstein; he was a Petty Officer First Class. "Hit the machines." Kite released them to the weight lifting area of the gym.

"Captain 117," Petty Officer Lichtenstein said in greeting, motioning for John to choose the first machine they would work on.

"Petty Officer Lichtenstein," John replied. He spotted an open bench and crossed to it. "I'll spot first."

Petty Officer Lichtenstein nodded and lay down on the bench, wiggling to adjust himself. "I start with 100," he offered, rubbing his hands in chalk dust.

John nodded and loaded the bar appropriately, checking to ensure the locking pins were in place. He stood in position behind the bar and Lichtenstein gripped it, adjusting his fingers until he was comfortable, and lowered the bar to his chest before raising it carefully. Satisfied that his grip was good, he began benching the bar to his heartbeat.

John added another pair of weights to the bar when the Petty Officer set the bar down and stood by. Once Lichtenstein couldn't lift more without faltering, John racked the bar and they traded places. John started at the same point as his partner out of courtesy and pressed the weight to his heartbeat, slightly slower than Lichtenstein's.

"Add double this time," John instructed as he rested the bar on its post again. Lichtenstein nodded and piled on two more circular plates.

"Our pile's out," he chuckled.

"We'll borrow from someone else." John adjusted his grip and unloaded the bar from its rack. It was close to his maximum; he could feel the muscles of his chest and arms engaging as he lowered and raised the bar.

"Out of curiosity, Captain, what's your 1RM?"

John huffed. "I haven't measured it in years," he admitted.

"Would you like to?"

John nodded in agreement and racked the bar again. He sat up and signaled Master Chief Kite.

"Aye, Spartan?" Kite asked, coming over. It was a delicate balance they had finally agreed on in the training area: unless John specified he was taking charge, he had told the trainers to treat him like any of their soldiers.

"We'll need another couple piles," John told her.

Kite cast her eye up and down him. "You sure you can handle it?"

"Yes, sir," John replied.

"Alright, then. I was about to order a switch anyway." She whistled the three-note combination that told the Spartans to switch machines and secured two more piles of the circular plates. The two teams thus displaced stood by to watch, curious.

John lay back down on the bench and found a good grip on the bar. Lichtenstein loaded another pair of weights on the bar and nodded when they were secure. John could feel the strain as he lifted the bar and pressed it down and then back up. He only did it thrice and then lowered the bar back to its rest. Lichtenstein loaded two more weights on it carefully.

"Hanshaw, get in there and help spot," Kite ordered, motioning for John to wait.

Lichtenstein and Hanshaw stood side-by-side to catch the bar if John faltered. The older Spartan lifted the bar down and pressed it, feeling the strain intensify. However, he wasn't trembling yet, so he put the bar back.

With a glance at Kite, Lichtenstein loaded another hundred onto the press. "You're at eight hundred, Captain," he informed John.

John grunted in acknowledgement and brought the bar down. He could feel the tremble beginning in his shoulders and completed the press. The next hundred was harder but, despite Lichtenstein's worry, John complete it, too. He topped out at the thousand, however, unwilling to risk injuring himself by going higher.

Racking the thousand pounds of metal, John rolled his shoulders. The burn was comfortable and familiar. He sat up and noticed one of the Spartans handing a five-credit bill to another.

"Damn, Captain," Lichtenstein whistled, unloading the bar.

John shook his head slightly. "Douglass would be laughing at me right now if he were here."

"Douglass?" Lichtenstein blinked in confusion.

"My brother. He was our heavy weight." John could still remember Douglass's constant prodding to get him – and every other Spartan – to work on their bench press. He loved competition and wanted a "real opponent" on the machine, though no one could match him.

"Oh."

"Alright, ladies, you've had your break, now get back to work," Kite ordered, walking by.

John and Lichtenstein worked their way through the gym, trading the occasional comment but mostly in companionable silence. Once they – and everyone else – were sweating and thoroughly worked through, Kite ordered them to hit the showers and then the mess.

Though he had his own bathroom, John made it a point of his morning to shower with the team he had worked with. He jogged with the group towards the showers, meeting Kelly and her Rabbits on the way. Only two teams could fit into the showers at a time so the team leaders staggered the morning workouts to give each other room.

The soldiers quickly stripped, throwing their stinky morning gear into the large laundry machines that would give them a quick clean while the soldiers cleaned their bodies. John was one of the first into the showers; Kelly took the head next to him.

"How'd it go?" she asked cheerfully, turning on her shower.

"Good," John replied, running his hands through his hair and using his fingernails to scrub it. "And you?"

"We had a good time of racing each other as always." Kelly chuckled richly. "I noticed you measured your 1RM again."

"I only hit a thousand," John replied, answering the unspoken question.

"Only!" one of the Spartan IVs scoffed from the shower to John's left.

"Douglass would have a field day."

"I know," John assured her. The water turned cold, signaling that thirty seconds had gone by. John turned the water off and slicked his hair back. "You should see what yours is."

"Is that a challenge?" Kelly asked, grinning as she stepped out of the shower and planted her hands on her hips.

"No, just an observation. We both know who would win."

"Chicken." Kelly threw a towel at John and they quickly dried off.

"Five credits on the Captain," one of the IVs muttered.

"I heard that," Kelly warned, snapping her towel at the offending soldier, who jumped out of the way. The rest of the IVs laughed.

John extracted his dry fatigues from the laundry and quickly put them on. Then he towel-dried his hair and put the towel in the drier for the next group. The group moved quickly out of the room as the next pair of teams arrived; John followed them to the mess.

The morning menu never changed except for small things like having dried pineapple in the oatmeal instead of dried apple. John served himself a bowl of the oatmeal – today, it was stuffed with raisins – and a scoop of scrambled eggs the color of pus. The protein for the morning was slices of ham; he took two. Kelly skipped the eggs and took four slices of ham. They got a carton of milk each and sat down at one of the tables.

While the Spartan IVs made conversation while they ate, the two IIs concentrated on their food and finished quickly. They put their trays in the cleaner and separated again.

John returned to his quarters and changed into his day-wear, a compromise between his formal uniform and training fatigues. Then he sat down at his desk and pulled up the report from Crewman Schwartz.

It was thorough as always and included some observations John would not have thought of. Schwartz had charge of the ship; everyone knew the head Crewman was the one who really ran things. He had noted a missing supply manifesto and found it misfiled (and, his personal comment said, he had scolded the new recruit in charge of filing those manifestos). He also had set up the menu for the next week; John approved it, as he always did, with only a cursory glance. Noting the lunch scheduled for the day, he decided to make time to go to the cafeteria instead of taking his meal alone, as he usually did. Kelly loved squash and would be there as soon as the doors opened.

They were going through the replacement parts for both II and IV armor faster than anticipated. John made a note of that section of the report and sent it on to the team leaders. They would have to reduce the number of busted seals and dented armor pieces. The dents could be hammered out but they weakened the armor. He also sent it to Dr. West along with a note asking if there was a way to manufacture said pieces now rather than waiting for a resupply ship.

Then he read the reports that had come during the night from Earth. A large part of his job as Captain, he had found, was keeping up-to-date on news from other ships and within the military. He was particularly interested in news about Vern, but there was little enough of that. Most of the reports were concerned with repairing ships that had been damaged during the war or the shuttling of personnel back and forth between Earth and the defense armada.

Several reports concerned the inner politics of the government; while he was uninterested in it personally, Maximus had told him, in no uncertain terms, that Captains had a duty to their ship and their crew to be informed of policy changes and political movement. So, despite not understanding half of the subtle relationships in those reports, John read them diligently.

Maximus had also included a story from the public press in his "morning paper," as the AI called it. The headline caught John's attention immediately: Hood Children Custody Case in Full Swing. He scanned the article – it was much less factual than the military reports he was used to reading – for the important details. The court had taken up the case and Terry's estranged sister, Bianca, had filed for custody. While John had never met the woman, Terry had mentioned her a few times, always with thinly-veiled hatred.

"I thought you would want to be kept informed on their progress," Maximus said when John closed the file. The AI appeared on his desktop.

"Thank you, Maximus," John replied. He glanced at the clock; Dr. West would be coming any minute.

He minimized the reports he had managed to read – about half of the ones called to his attention by the AI and there would be more coming in throughout the day – and cast a glance around the outer room. It was spotless, as always; he wrote a quick note of thanks to the janitorial team and sent it off just as someone buzzed at his door.

"Come in," he said. Dr. West let herself in and sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of John's desk. "Good morning, Dr. West." She was wearing her usual attire, a button-down blue shirt and black pants underneath a white lab coat with a pen in the top pocket. Dr. West was nothing if not practical in her choice of clothing. Her brown hair was up in its usual bun, her brown eyes bright. She reminded John of Dr. Halsey in almost every way.

"Good morning, Captain. How are you?"

"Well enough. And yourself?"

"Good, good." Dr. West smiled. "And how is your back?"

"Healing well, doctor."

"Excellent." Dr. West crossed her legs at the knee and leaned back into the chair. "I've come to discuss enhancing the neural interface for the Spartan IV Rabbit team. They've been working to improve their reaction times recently." She quickly outlined the exercises the team had been doing, including the old-fashioned "catch a ruler" trick. "The Spartan IVs, at least, do have the wiggle room in their neural augmentations for it. I am less sure about the Helljumpers; I'd need to test each one to make sure they could handle it."

John nodded seriously. "How long would they need to recover from the augmentation?"

"From the actual surgery itself, a couple of hours perhaps. But there would be coordination issues – like what your team faced – for at least three days even with hard training."

"We have five days until we arrive, Dr. West. They need to be completely comfortable with their new speeds before we drop out of Slipspace and risk encountering hostiles. Is there any way to speed up that recovery time?"

Dr. West frowned slightly. "We could make the augmentations only to half of the group," she offered. "Then there would be half that could be counted on. I don't doubt the half to receive the augmentations will be ready, but just in case."

John thought about the proposal. He knew what kind of inter-team dynamics such a move would make. He tapped the call button for the AI; Maximus appeared instantly. "Call Kelly and Tuckkit here," he ordered. Maximus nodded and disappeared again.

"What kind of exercises would you have them doing to improve their recovery?" he asked Dr. West, turning his attention back to the woman.

"The first thing they will need is basic movement restructuring. They could end up hurting themselves – probably not badly, but bruises that can be avoided, should be – or others. So they will need to navigate simple tasks first, such as reloading their rifles."

John nodded. He remembered hours of practice doing menial tasks like that with his enhanced strength and speed. Loading a magazine hadn't been so difficult since he was first introduced to the large rifles soldiers carried at eight years old. "It's just repetition. They'll get it. But will they get it fast enough – especially if they are under real attack and adrenaline boosts their speed even more."

"They won't have Spartan Time," Dr. West noted. "But they will be approaching that, so yes. You will need to set up some sort of live-fire situation to ensure they can handle the adrenaline rush and what it will do to them."

A buzzing from the door interrupted the doctor; John invited the person in. Kelly and Master Chief Tuckkit had arrived together. Kelly motioned for Tuckkit to take the seat next to Dr. West and leaned against the wall comfortably.

"Dr. West has been explaining her ideas about enhancing the reaction times of the Spartan Rabbit team," John told Tuckkit and Kelly. "We have five days until we arrive. She estimates that it will take them three days or more to recover and regain their original comfort with their enhanced speed. We need soldiers who are comfortable with themselves when we hit Slipspace – we will probably have a target immediately. What do you suggest?"

"It took us four days – but we had additional issues," Kelly said. "They won't grow, they'll just be faster. So it won't take as long."

John nodded. Tuckkit leaned forward slightly; he always did so before speaking. "If we make it some sort of competition between them, they will likely progress faster. They're very competitive, sir." He shot a glance at Kelly that told John the Spartan II had encouraged that competitiveness, possibly beyond what Tuckkit considered helpful.

"Would you feel comfortable enhancing half of the group and not the other half?"

Tuckkit frowned and shook his head immediately. "That would create a divide, sir, that we can't afford. My soldiers are close but they're not bonded yet. The Rabbit team is too new."

John nodded; he wasn't surprised. "There is also the issue of adrenaline. We will need to stimulate a battle environment in order to ensure they can handle their new speeds in the field."

Kelly nodded. "We could use the simulation room," she offered.

"Knowing it's a simulation won't make it real," Tuckkit disagreed. "They won't experience the real thing."

Kelly frowned and then straightened. "So we crash-course them. While they're still out from the surgery, we put them in the sim room, make it look like the medical bay, and run a boarding sim."

"Such an overload at first could tax their systems too much," Dr. West protested.

"Then give them a day to recover and work on their coordination, drug their dinner, and move them into the room once they're asleep." Kelly was clearly set on surprising the soldiers in the sim room.

Tuckkit nodded slowly. "That could work. They will be fairly fresh, too, since we won't do anything truly difficult the first day."

"Dr. West?" John asked, turning to the woman for her opinion.

"If there are no complications during the surgeries, I will green-light it," she said after a moment of thought. "I don't want a soldier's heart spasming from over-stimulation."

John nodded. "Then prepare your equipment and your soldiers and get it done as soon as possible." Kelly and Tuckkit stood and saluted; Dr. West stood and smiled in farewell. The three filed from the room.

Leranson arrived a mere five minutes later, right on time. "Good morning, Captain," he said, saluting. John returned the greeting and had him sit down to discuss his ideas. They were good ones that mostly revolved around mixing up teams and John ordered him to work out the details about room assignments with Schwartz. He warned Leranson to leave the Spartan Rabbits alone, however, as that relatively new group needed more bonding.

John had ten minutes to read more reports – he finished three – before Maximus interrupted to let him know that lunch was about to be served. The Spartan nodded with thanks and left quickly; he arrived at the mess hall with the first group of soldiers. Kelly was among them, as he had predicted. She grinned in greeting and they ate lunch together. Then John returned to his duties and Kelly headed for the medical bay where the Spartan Rabbits were being put under, she told him.

When John returned to his quarters, Maximus locked away the reports and ordered him to take a break and spend a little time on his own needs. He had lingered over lunch but still had forty-five minutes before the AI would willingly reopen the files. John spent several minutes straightening his formal uniform, which he would wear onto the bridge, and then donning it. Then he sat on his couch and immersed himself in a book from the shelves in his quarters. It was a tactical manual from before the Covenant War, and he found himself disagreeing with a lot of the more ethical arguments the author made.

Maximus appeared again just before the lunch hour was over and reminded John, not that the Spartan needed it, of his afternoon schedule. John replaced the book, marking his page, and sat down again behind his desk. Just as he was adjusting the chair, Linda knocked. John invited her in and they discussed what Linda had been doing with the pilots to prepare them for the landings they would be making in the tight bays of Jackal pirate ships. Then she formally requested her reassignment to the sniper team, since the pilots were self-sufficient, and John approved it. He set up her new orders and signed them; she wished him a good day and left with a little bounce in her step.

Glancing at the clock, John realized he might have time to finish the reports from the day so far if nothing interrupted him. He quickly accessed them and began scanning the documents. Master Chiefs Slaughbaum and Tuckkit made their reports in ten minutes and John only questioned them on a couple of points before releasing each one.

Thus, when John followed Tuckkit out of his quarters and turned to head to the bridge, the captain had finished all of the report reading that had come in so far that day. He entered the bridge, greeted the crew and his XO, and stood at the observation platform, hands behind his back. The bridge crew knew what they were doing, and Slipspace wasn't at all difficult to navigate through. In fact, Maximus did almost everything. However, the crew members sat their stations and reported activity as dutifully as though they were in the middle of a fire fight. They would be running a simulation this evening; Maximus appeared on the pedestal next to John's elbow and signaled that the simulation was running.

One of the bridge officers put a hand to her earpiece, frowning. She turned part-way around in her chair. "Captain! I have a strange signal on the long-range comm."

"Speakers," John ordered calmly. The woman turned around with a nod and patched the signal through; John could hear the faint music in the background. Maximus had chosen a mid-2300s ensemble this time.

"Bring weapons online," John ordered. The bridge alarm began blaring. The rest of the ship wouldn't be affected, but Maximus made the systems respond as though they were. A full-ship simulation was more difficult to coordinate so bridge simulations outnumbered them two to one. "Alert the ship."

"Aye, sir." Several officers immediately began transmitting messages to the appropriate sections of the ship. They warned the soldiers to gear up for battle, the crewmembers to attend their engineering and mechanics duties, and the non-com people to get the hell out of the way.

"Drop us out, Maximus." Maximus nodded and the bridge darkened slightly and then brightened. They hadn't truly dropped out of Slipspace – there was no jolt – but Maximus simulated the computer effects from the transition.

"Long range scanners online," one officer barked, putting the view from his station onto the main screen without prompting. "Six hostiles, sir. Small craft only."

"Find the mother ship." John looked at the simulated images. The drones were in a loose formation and idly circling a planet. "Scramble Longswords and engage."

"Mothership bearing down!" the first officer reported. The view on the main screen jumped; John could see the hull of a purple Jackal ship in the camera's field of vision. "Plasma lines warming, Captain."

"Engage shields and warn Longswords. Prepare MAC, Archer pods A through J, and the Demagger." The Demagger, as it was called, would confuse the magnetic fields guiding the plasma, but it had a limited range. The MAC's rounds had been humanity's best weapon during the Covenant war.

"Slipspace transition," a woman called. A second ship appeared just off the Kig Yar's starport bow; it, too, was a Jackal pirate ship.

John barked out a new heading and the camera views tilted accordingly. "Fire MAC and Archers," he ordered. "Order the Longswords to return."

"Aye, sir!" Several officers scrambled to obey but, despite the chaos, there was no confusion. John ordered his XO to find them an asteroid field and plot a course for it; Kent nodded and began searching the system. Maximus helped him.

The two ships turned on John's and moved into attack lines, their sides glowing as they prepared to fire. The weapons officer reported the MAC fired – there was no thump throughout the hull to warn them since it was a simulation, after all – and the Demagger ready. The MAC round streaked through space just behind a salvo of Archer missiles that would weaken the shields upon impact. They knocked the ship square on the nose; the MAC drove through to its belly and the Kig Yar ship crumpled. The other had fired, however, and Maximus turned his attention to directing the Demagger.

They avoided the first salvo of plasma but the second was already heating up. "Longswords in the bay, Captain," one officer reported.

"Where's our heading, Kent?" John asked, turning to the XO.

Kent reported the heading and the cameras tilted as the bridge crew hastened to obey. They sped towards an asteroid belt, the Kig Yar ship giving chase. While the Odysseus II was larger than the Jackal ship, it had better maneuvering capabilities thanks to the human, Sangheili, and Huragok engineers that had designed it.

The ship slid through the asteroid belt with only a few cursory glances from the space rocks. The Jackal ship opted to go above the belt and was likely looking to ambush them on the other side. John ordered the ship to move up through the asteroids, bringing them out just underneath the Jackal ship. Another salvo of Archers and a MAC round took care of the enemy.

"Bring us back to the scouts," John ordered as the crew cheered the destruction. They quickly traveled back in-system to where the six drones were still sitting. "Deploy search team."

Three green dots, supposedly Pelicans loaded with soldiers in exosuits, joined the red hostiles on the screen. They gathered closer together; then one officer yelped. "Nuke detected, Captain!"

The Pelicans were already turning around, but it was too late; the screens fizzed with static as the nuke exploded, destroying the six hostiles as well as the inbound party. John scrambled the Longswords but the nuke had been an ambush, likely left by the Kig Yar ships in case they had been defeated. He did not think the Jackals would think of doing it, but he had to admit that Maximus often threw a twist into the simulations that John wasn't expecting.

The system was quiet; Maximus ended the simulation and reported the casualties. They had destroyed two Kig Yar ships and lost eighteen men and women along with three Pelicans. Their Archer missile banks were being reloaded, as was the MAC.

"Not too bad," Maximus opined as the bridge crew settled back into the boring task of watching the blank screens and listening to static.

"I should have swept for nukes," John disagreed, shaking his head slightly. Eighteen of his soldiers had, hypothetically, died for his lack of foresight.

"You'll get the hang of it, sir," Kent added encouragingly. "We'll keep running sims."

"If I miss something like that again, tell me," John ordered the young man.

"I didn't think of it either, sir. Who would expect Jackals to think of that?"

John looked at the main screen and leaned over the table slightly. "We have to think outside the box," he said quietly. "We have a very limited amount of resources available. We can't afford those kinds of losses."

"Aye, sir." He and Kent spent thirty minutes discussing the simulation and what they could have done differently. Kent noticed that the magnetic field from an outer-system giant could have also been used to interfere with the plasma's guidance system; they wouldn't have needed to use the DeMagger which sometimes faltered.

"On the other hand, we might have been pulled into its gravity well, and if a plasma bolt took out our engines, we would've been royally screwed," Kent mused.

John nodded. He had been thinking the same.

"Sir, you're expected in the gym," Maximus chimed in.

John looked up to find that the clock was already at 1855. He ran quickly through the almost ritualistic "handing over the wheel" exercise, giving Kent the reins, and returned to his quarters. There, he changed out of his formal uniform and back into his training gear. He double-timed it down to the gym and just made it on time.

Kite ran the team around the running track, which was absent of Rabbits, and then they worked on their battlefield protocols. John enjoyed the work as they used the weight machines as cover and practiced invading and defending certain targets. He rotated, like everyone else, through being leader and subordinate in each smaller group.

An hour and a half later, hot and pleasantly tired, John left the group to continue their work and returned to his quarters. He showered quickly and then dressed in his more usual gear to read the reports that had come in since 1600. There were only a couple that he read in detail; the others he skimmed for important content. Maximus appeared just as he closed the last file.

"Will you want dinner in tonight, sir?" he asked. "Mess is about to close."

John nodded his thanks and stood, making for the mess hall. He made it just before the last bell rang and ate a hasty dinner. Walking towards the medical bay, he realized he had no idea what he'd just eaten, too engrossed with his duties.

He entered the med bay and found Dr. West consulting with one of the doctors in the lobby. They turned at his approach; Dr. West motioned for him to wait a moment. After a few more exchanged words, the pair separated. Dr. West smiled and offered her hand. John shook it.

"The operations all went smoothly," she reported. "The soldiers recovered from the surgery more quickly than I anticipated and insisted on working on their coordination. They're in Bay Three with Kelly and Master Chief Tuckkit going through weapons drills, last I checked."

John nodded his thanks and left again. He made his way down to the third bay, passing a few people in the hallway who saluted. As promised, the Spartan Rabbit team were in the bay, sitting or lying on the floor as they dissembled and reassembled their rifles.

"Captain on deck!" Kelly barked when he stepped into the room. The Rabbits jumped to their feet – John noticed many of them were already steady on their feet – and saluted smartly.

"Back to your duties," John ordered, returning the salute. He spotted Tuckkit and went to hear the man's report. It was mostly favorable; some soldiers were struggling with accommodating the new response times but, on the whole, the group was coming back up to speed much faster than anticipated.

"And their plans for this evening?" John asked quietly.

"Maximus is preparing the sim room. They've just eaten. We'll put 'em to bed." He turned to address the Spartans. "Pack 'em up, Rabbits! Dr. West ordered extra sleep for you, so hop off to bed!"

The soldiers stood, saluted their commander, and trotting out in neat lines. John, Kelly, and Tuckkit watched them go and then gathered to discuss their plans for moving each soldier into the sim room.

"Schwartz had a bunch of extra cots brought into the room," Kelly reported. Her anticipation was infectious; John decided he was going to attend the simulation. "Maximus decided on a boarding simulation by Jackals to enhance the real-ness. But he promised a couple surprises."

"How is their coordination?"

"Improving faster than ours did," Kelly snorted with a grin. "There were a few bruises and thumbs pinched in magazines at first but almost all of them can reload faster now. Tomorrow, we'll see how they do in responding to something being thrown at them."

John nodded. "Just don't put anyone in the med bay. We can't afford to lose anyone this early."

Kelly hummed in agreement.

"They should be asleep any minute," Tuckkit estimated. "Will you join us, Captain?"

John nodded and Tuckkit led the way to the small garage assigned to house the Rabbits. The group had chosen to forsake the more comfortable bunks and, in the tradition of the Spartan IIs, take over one room for all of their leisure and sleep.

Tuckkit opened the door and they looked in to find all of the soldiers sprawled over their cots. A couple hadn't even made it that far and were passed out on the floor.

"If I had a pen…" Kelly muttered, smirking. She rolled the nearest soldier over and picked him up. She stacked two soldiers over her shoulders like sacks of potatoes. "They didn't shower, either." She crinkled her nose and headed for the sim room.

Between them, Tuckkit, Kelly, and John managed to move all of the soldiers over in three trips. They laid the fifteen men and women out on the cots and then stacked the simulation rifles – identical on the outside to real rifles but loaded with blanks – and ammunition near the simulated doorway. Without the holographics running, the room was a series of panels on the floors that could rise to form barriers, blank grey walls, and a dark ceiling.

"We're ready, sir," Maximus said when the three had moved into the observation booth next door. The cameras would allow them to watch the action.

"The drugs should be through their system; they'll wake up pretty quick," Tuckkit added. He glanced at John, but the Captain nodded for him to give the order. It was his group, after all. "Begin the sim, Maximus."

"Aye, Master Chief." The room below immediately started blaring the alarm klaxon from speakers in the walls and ceiling. The holographics snapped into place, simulating the garage with a door at the far end.

The soldiers jolted upright; those on the floor fumbled about, confused. John's voice barked from the speakers: "We're being boarded by Jackals. Gear up and clear the hallways." Then an explosion cut off the broadcast, following by a voice screaming that John recognized. Maximus had warped Kent's voice into a scream to add to the realism.

The soldiers, shouting in confusion, latched onto the orders and ran for their gear. Watching closely, John noticed that some of them missed their rifles, their arm moving to grab them more quickly than they had expected. Others' fists closed prematurely.

After some confusion and sorting out of gear, the soldiers hurried out of the room. The other side was simulated to look like the hallway; they split into two groups, one turning towards the bridge and the other towards the engine room.

Maximus spun up a patrol of Jackals that ambushed the bridge team. The Spartan Rabbits managed to massacre the aliens, only losing one soldier – who was, really, knocked out by a dark from a hole in the wall – and moving on quickly. The darts would paralyze the soldiers until a signal from the room's computer released them. The engine room team, meanwhile, got to the door of the engineering section and set up a defensive position there.

Maximus directed a party of Jackals to attack the defending team and then unleashed another on the bridge group. They lost two soldiers this time, and John noticed that the group paused as a collective to reload. They would have to work on reloading on the fly.

Maximus had noticed the same thing and sent in a larger group of Jackal holograms, which would require the soldiers to reload in the middle of a firefight. Several pieces of "debris" formed excellent cover for the aliens; the Spartans stormed the position and took it over, though John could hear cursing as they jammed thumbs and fingers in magazines. One person caught the web of their thumb in their pistol's slide and started bleeding; he quickly wrapped up the hand.

"I'm glad we didn't have to do this," Kelly muttered, glancing at John.

"We wouldn't have survived," he replied. "I couldn't even tie my shoes the first day without really working at it." Kelly chuckled.

The bridge team successfully entered the bridge to find it covered in blood and gore. Maximus had clearly taken a little creative license and the dead and burned bodies of most of the crew were strewn about like forgotten dolls. The team moved quickly, making sure there were no live people to evacuate, and then sealed off the bridge so the Jackals couldn't get in and vent the atmosphere from the ship.

Maximus led them, using Jackal patrols, towards the gym. They came across a dead Spartan II – it was John with a hole through his chest – and then another patrol of Jackals.

"Was it necessary to kill me?" John asked as Maximus, appearing to watch the carnage from his post in the observation booth's holographic pedestal, grinned maliciously.

"Probably not. But I felt that it would add to the heightened adrenaline."

John grunted and turned his attention to the defending group. They had taken several losses from the attacking Jackal parties but were holding their own.

"Oh, look, it's the main event," Maximus drawled. A thunderous roar made everyone's heartbeats increase. "I call him La."

A massive Hunter charged the bridge team from behind a screen of Jackals. It was a hologram so it couldn't really attack them, but it stopped just short of the group and stomped. The floor panels shook, simulating the thud of the creature's weight against the deck. Its plasma cannon warmed and fired; the Spartans scattered but three were judged "dead' by the AI and shot with darts.

Most of the team "died" in taking down the Hunter due to the cramped quarters. The stragglers fought through the Jackal team and made their way back to the engine room group, clearing the corridors along the way. Only five Rabbits remained "alive" in the simulation.

"One more and then I think we should call a halt," Maximus judged, bringing up the soldier's biosigns. All had the usual signs of stress but they were approaching the unhealthy limit.

"Alright. Throw in a big party," Tuckkit ordered, leaning forward.

"Aye, aye, sir!" Maximus grinned and turned back to the viewscreens. Another party of Jackals stormed the defending team and overpowered them. The last soldier fell still shooting at the holographic enemies, his finger paralyzed on the trigger.

"And that's a wrap." Maximus lit up the sim room and deactivated the paralyzing agent. The soldiers groaned as they rolled to their feet and looked around, stunned.

John, Kelly, and Master Chief Tuckkit walked into the room just as the ones who had been "killed" early on were helping their comrades to their feet.

"It was just a sim?" one muttered angrily, sucking on a blood blister on his hand.

"You needed to see what it would be like to fight with enhanced reflexes," Master Chief Tuckkit told the group. "And now you know."

"Sir, permission to speak frankly?" one of the Rabbits asked.

"Granted."

"Fuckin' A." There were several laughs of agreement.

"Good to see you alive, Captain," a younger woman yelled at John. "I knew it was a dream."

John raised his eyebrow. The invincibility of Spartan IIs was legend despite the very real KIAs next to twenty-nine black-taped names.

"Now you're released to your beds," Tuckkit told the group. "Hop off, Rabbits."

"I'm sleeping with one eye open from now on," the man with the wrapped hand muttered as the group trooped through the door.

"I'm going to have nightmares for weeks."

"Just don't wake me up, Tiny."

"Anyone know where my pants went?"

"You charged into a battle without pants?"

"Shut up!"

"Fuck, I'm glad they don't have charge of our training."

"I'm sleeping in."

"Like hell you are."

"Fuck you."

The group's interplay faded as the Rabbits trotted back to their garage. Master Tuckkit wished the Captain and Kelly a good night and headed for his own quarters. Schwartz would arrange to clean up the sim room of the stray cots and weapons.

John headed for his quarters; Kelly wanted to follow him but turned towards her own room at the branching hallway instead. Maximus was on his desk when John let himself into the outer room.

"A good showing, sir," Maximus said.

"How many reports came in?" John asked, sitting down.

"None that I judged important enough for your attention. It's already midnight. You should get some sleep, Captain."

John nodded. "Wake me at 5 again," he ordered.

Maximus huffed but agreed. The Captain disappeared into his quarters and quickly undressed. He attended to his nightly hygienic ritual and then collapsed into the bed. The lights shut off automatically and he closed his eyes.