PROLOGUE

1645 HOURS, 12 JULY 2530 (UNSC MILITARY CALENDAR)

UNSC MY OTHER LEFT, HIGH ORBIT OVER ERIDANUS, ERIDANUS II SYSTEM

Cole watched it all through the window. He saw every inch of it- every flash of light, every smolder. Every detail was taken in by his 5-year old eyes. He watched with rapt attention as dozens of ships moved in perfect coordination, doing what they did best. He watched, silent and attentive, as the pattern that had established itself years ago at Harvest repeated itself. Every last detail was absorbed and accepted by his eyes and brain as he watched the latest spectacle of the Human-Covenant War. He stood there and watched it all.

He watched as the Covenant burned his home. And then it hit him.

His home was gone. His family and friends were all gone. Everything, everyone… just gone. He would never see them again. That was what did it. The five-year old collapsed onto the deck sobbing, his shrill voice joining that of hundreds of others on the cargo deck of UNSC My Other Left. Hardly anyone was distracted by this- hundreds of others were already screaming and bawling their heads off- and no-one blamed them. This had happened a dozen times already- the Covenant would come, they would destroy a planet, and leave. They left no-one and nothing save ashes and glass. The UNSC had named the Covenant's destruction of planets after what they left behind.

Glassing.

But what was surprising was that the child stopped sobbing after only a few minutes. As many around him bawled on and on, the child, shaking and hiccoughing only occasionally now, rose to his feet. His tiny hands balled into fists, and his frame began to shake again. But it was not anguish that drove this. It was not sorrow or misery that caused the youth to shake like a building on Earth's San Andreas Fault. It was anger. Pure, steaming rage and hatred. The kid was a kettle boiling over. As his face flushed red with blood, he rushed to the window and pounded against it with his fists, screaming at the top of his voice all the while. The glass was reinforced, and the Covenant fleet was millions of kilometers away- he might as well have mooned them for all the good it would have done. But that wasn't the point. He hated them- he detested and loathed them with every fiber of his being, and with nothing left to live for- no friends, no family, no home- revenge was all he had left; it was all he could hope to gain from the remainder of his life. Long or short, that's what it would come down to. Vengeance.

Lieutenant Forrest Anderson smiled to himself. This one would be perfect. He was a textbook case, just like the other seven Anderson had recruited. Colonel James Ackerson had put out a call for volunteers for a pilot project, with a final selection class of three hundred. But what was a class without washouts? The rough targets had called for five hundred- when last Anderson had checked, the roster stood at four hundred ninety-six. Ackerson had also specifically stated that the candidates were not to exceed six years of age. Anderson's smile only grew wider as he recalled this. This was only too familiar.

In 2517, seventy-five children had disappeared into the night at the age of six, replaced by flash-clones who would die of 'unknown natural causes' within a few months. Eight years later, the UNSC NavSpecWar officers had thirty-three SPARTAN-II super-soldiers at their disposal. To Anderson, it was hardly an ideal operation: too many had washed out- over half, in fact. But this was thirteen years later. ONI had learned. Ackerson had never actually said what he wanted these kids for, but looking at ONI's records had yielded enough clues to crack the real meaning behind the Colonel's odd request. Anderson's smile remained glued to his face- ONI would be getting a new generation of Spartans.

The kid's screaming reached fever pitch, and he pounded against the glass harder than ever- had Anderson not known that the viewports were reinforced, he might have moved to stop him- but he didn't. Let's just see how angry he can really get, a voice inside him said. The rest of Anderson's mind offered no arguments. Minute by minute, the glass took more and more abuse from the child's fists, until finally, fatigue set in. Anderson's smile disappeared and his eyebrows rose- the kid's fury had played itself out- for now. If it ran this deep, though…

Anderson strode across the room, passing dozens of others, including other children, who simply lay sobbing on any surface they were perched on. He shook his head ever so slightly. No, he thought, they just won't do. They're nothing like that one. He reached the window and crouched, right next to the child who had battered for almost ten minutes at a reinforced window. If only some of the other seven had been this angry… Anderson sighed. He'd probably be a Lieutenant Commander instead. But that would mean he'd be attached to some high-and-mighty post, and he hated that. He'd rather be here, where he could see, see with his own eyes the fruits of his labors. His smile was back in a flash as he considered that considered just what those fruits would be… This boy, a real SPARTAN… SPARTANs would carve a name for themselves into the skulls of any Covenant they crossed. History, however, would never know him.

But thousands of Covenant corpses would bear witness to the history SPARTANs could make. SPARTANs that he would bring into the fold.

He set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "All right, son, it's all right." The words came naturally to him, fatherly and concerned, but commanding all at the same time. A part of him hated it- he'd have to pretend to care and be concerned with these children for them to trust him- he'd be deceiving them. But it was necessary, like so many other things the UNSC had done.

Things that made the kidnapping of seventy-five children seem saintly.

He patted the boy's shoulder again. "Now, now, son- it's okay."

"No… its- it's not," the boy sniffed, grief filling the void anger had just vacated. "They t-took my- my family… my-"

"I know. Believe me, I know," Anderson replied heavily- and convincingly. The kid looked up at him through huge tear-filled eyes. "They killed your family too?"

"On Harvest. They died years ago, also thanks to the Covenant." Not technically a lie- he'd lost his brother and his two nieces when the Covenant glassed the planet. Any shred of information that made you more convincing was a plus for ONI- but a small bit of him squirmed. His father would be turning in his grave if he knew Forrest was using his family's tragedy like this. But he pushed on- he'd started, and there was no more point in trying to go back. Clearing his throat, he continued. "It hurts, doesn't it? Knowing they're gone- that those aliens didn't care that they were good people. They kill anyone- good, bad, it doesn't matter. They just kill." The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide. "Why do they do it?"

Anderson simply shrugged. "Who knows? But that's why we fight. We fight so that they can't kill us all. But we don't have enough- we're losing."

Something flooded into the child's eyes, making them go wide and dark. Fear.

"L-losing…?"

Forrest nodded. "Yes. We're losing. Day by day, week by week, year by year, they kill more people, burn more worlds. We do our best, but we can't stop them. And we're running out of people." It probably helped that a not-so-insignificant part of him really did know just how bad their situation was. That's why he was recruiting, wasn't he? He was going to turn all that around.

"Then let me fight." Anderson allowed his eyes to widen.

"What?"

"Let me fight- you need more people. Let me fight them. I'll help you win."

It never ceased to amaze him how children could honestly believe what they said- and this one meant it too. He would fight the Covenant. And Anderson would show him just how to do it.

"You're just a kid- these aliens are killing grown-ups by the hundreds." Best not to say billions- just yet.

"I don't care- I'll kill 'em. I'll kill all of 'em."

And snap went the mousetrap, that voice in his mind purred. Always make them think it's their idea.

"You are brave, aren't you?"

"You got that right- I ain't afraid o' any of 'em."

"All right, you can fight. But- you're going to need special training. This ship is going to stop at a new planet in two days." He pulled out a small yellow slip of paper. "Everyone else will get off, but show this to the man at the door and you can stay on the ship. It'll take you to your special training area." Something else entered the small boy's eyes just then- excitement. He was going to be trained, and then he'd go kill Covenant soldiers. Anderson sighed as the child ran off. He knew what it had been like to feel the thrill of his job. Sometimes he still felt it too- before the reminder of just what this war had cost sunk in.

Shaking his head, Anderson walked back to his quarters. His ONI datapad lay on his desk, blinking bright blue. Walking over, he picked it up and tapped the surface lightly. A message began to upload itself to the screen.

'To Lieutenant Forrest Anderson.

Your redeployment orders have been forwarded through FLEETCOM. You are to immediately report to Reach for your assignment to the UNSC Spirit of Fire on a military expeditionary/recovery mission to planet Harvest, Epsilon Indi system. Respond ASAP.

Sincerely,

Captain James Gregory Cutter,

UNSC Spirit of Fire

Message Ends.'

Anderson sighed. Harvest was gone- anyone with half a brain knew that. But FLEETCOM wanted- then again, FLEETCOM wanted a lot of things. There was no point in refusing the order. Even if he hid, ONI would find him and court-martial him- that much he knew. He hung his head as a voice boomed over the PA system, "The ship will now make a Slipspace jump to the Epsilon Eridani system, planet Reach. All passengers please understand that the transition may be uncomfortable for some."

As a massive shudder passed through the ship, Anderson looked down at his datapad, now showing a new screen. He'd recruited eight children. Just how many would become SPARTANs? he wondered.