In this particular scene, Cody Armstrong is introduced to his newly assigned squadron: Delta Squad. I thought this would be a good scene to post, since the introduction takes place in Hangar 11 - which is what I named my blog after.
Again, any feedback on your part is extremely appreciated.
It was extremely cold in the
hangar, and Cody shivered upon entering. The only sunlight fluttering in was
coming from small windows near the roof – mere slivers compared to everything
else in here.
There were several more fighter jets and land vehicles
within the dimly lit bay, most of its area dedicated to weapon storage. At
least, Cody assumed it was weapons – for he saw nothing but stacks upon stacks
of crates.
Off in one corner,
there was a half pyramid of crates against a wall. Three men stood near the
military-grade boxes, talking casually. All three of them wore full ultra soldier armor, though only one had
his helmet on.
One of the men was twirling a twelve-inch combat knife in
his hand. He wielded the weapon as if it were a harmless utensil. The sleek
metal of the blade gleamed whenever one particular spot met the sunlight.
The second man had his back turned to Cody, though he
could tell the soldier was in the process of cleaning a long-barreled rifle,
perhaps a sniper. He had long black hair that fell in messy clumps about his
shoulders.
The third soldier – the one with the helmet - leaned
against the stack of crates, his arms folded. Cody was unable to make out his
mood nor his features from the bleak visor he wore.
Harvey’s presence stirred the group.
“Ah, Harvey,” the man cleaning his sniper began, turning
in his seat. “Was wondering when you’d show up.”
The soldier spoke in a heavy accent Cody could only
discern as Russian. He had pale eyes and a strong demeanor. Cody assumed that
the care he had for his sniper proved that he was a marksman, same as Hayden.
“Saved one for you, boss,” the soldier with the knife
spoke up, tossing a small object to Harvey. He caught it easily, sticking it in
his mouth appreciatively. It was a cigar. Cuban, from the length and smell.
Cody had tried smoking in the past.
Never again.
Harvey lit the cigar and took a quick puff of its
seemingly splendid smoke. The others didn’t really pay much attention to it,
for - unbeknownst to Cody - Harvey was a heavy smoker. Had been all his life.
Delta had gotten used to it over the years.
Harvey removed the cigar from his mouth and gestured to
the three soldiers.
“This is Delta squad,” he stated, pointing to Cody. “And this
is Cody. Our new recruit.”
“And green as grass, by the looks of it,” the marksman
said skeptically, coming towards Cody. “Looks more like glorified cannon
fodder, if you ask me.”
Cody stood up straighter, hoping that it would display a
sense of power within him. The marksman wasn’t moved. He eyed Cody like he a
bear gloating over fresh meat.
A half smile crept over his face. He leaned in towards
Cody, as if to intimidate the recruit. Unfortunately, it seemed to be working.
“Oh, leave him alone, Cealen,” the knife-wielding soldier
scolded his comrade. He shoved the marksman out of the way, allowing him to
continue the introductions. Unlike Cealen, he smiled and stuck out his hand.
“Name’s Zack. SSC Zachary Smith, if you want to be formal. But, as you probably
know, we’re not that polite.”
Zack, unlike Cealen, was quick with his words. He spoke
in short bursts, as if taking a long time speaking was a sin.
“I’ll let you figure out what the SSC stands for,” Zack
continued, fast as a bullet.
Cody knew that it stood for Sergeant Second Class. No
doubt Zack was Harvey’s second-in-command.
“Zack’s our nerd in the squad,” Cealen explained from
behind. He had returned to cleaning his rifle.
“Am not!” Zack retorted, spinning to face his companion.
“At least one of us knows how to hack enemy hardware.”
Cealen gestured to his gun. “I wouldn’t need to.”
“Contrary to your belief, Cealen, you can’t just shoot
everything in sight,” Zack replied.
“Says who?” Cealen scoffed. “They pay me to shoot, not do
math.”
“Yeah,” Zack continued. “And unlike the rest of us, you
weren’t born, you were government-issued.”
“To snipe,” Cealen agreed.
Cody looked askance at Harvey. He smiled as he sucked back
on his cigar. Apparently this kind of argument, however playful, was a common
sight among Delta. Other sergeants would jump all over their subordinates for
behavior like this.
Perhaps it gave Delta a chance to ease tension.
Zack shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he turned back to
Cody. “Anyway, he’s right. I’m the only one with real smarts in this squad.
But,” he held up a finger, “that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle a
gun.”
“Oh, you know how to handle a gun, Zack. Most
definitely,” Cealen agreed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You just don’t
know how to make one dance.”
“And that’s Cealen,” Zack introduced his comrade. “Our gifted marksman.”
“That’s PFC Cealen Parker to you, greenie,” Cealen
corrected, slapping a large ammunition clip into his sniper. Finished with
repairs, he set the gun to the side. “And I’m the best damn sniper the galaxy has to offer. Don’t let anyone tell you
different.”
Hayden could give
you a run for your money, Cody thought. Something told him saying that out
loud was the worst decision he could make.
“You guys certainly don’t lack for confidence,” he said
aloud.
“We like to keep our self esteem up. Let’s us be ecstatic
under gunfire,” Zack joked, shrugging. Cody smiled as he pictured Delta on a
boisterous battlefield, their faces bright with quirky smirks. That could
explain why they were the best of the best.
Cody glanced past Cealen and Zack to the mysterious
soldier leaning against the crates. He still hadn’t moved from his initial
position, and Cody realized that his head was tilted in his direction.
Zack followed Cody’s gaze.
“Ah, and that is our final member: Corporal Ethan
Hunter,” he explained. “But, you can call him by the name every other squad has
for him: The Walking Tank.”
Ethan pushed off the crate and strode over to Cody. At
first, Cody didn’t see any reason to call him by that name, until the soldier
was standing in front of him – or, rather, above him.
The giant of a man must’ve been at least eight feet tall.
Cody had to crane his neck to look into the bleak visor he wore. His huge set
of armor clanked together with each step that he took. Combined, it had to have
weighed a thousand pounds; Ethan wore the outfit like it was nothing.
Silently, Cody gulped.
This man could eat someone his size for breakfast. And
that wasn’t hyperbole.
“I think he likes you,” Cealen muttered deviously, like
he was the owner of a huge, vicious bulldog that had started licking a guest.
Ethan proffered one of his meaty hands to Cody. It was at
least twice the size of any regular hand, and it was covered by a thick,
bendable skin of armor.
Hesitantly, Cody took the hand in his and squeezed.
Accepting the challenge, Ethan squeezed back. Cody felt
his knuckles grind together, felt the blood rush away from his fingertips. Ethan
held on for about thirty seconds, then let go.
Cody sighed in relief, shook his hand up and down to
regain the retracted blood. If a simple squeeze could do that much damage,
there was no telling the amount of havoc this beast of a man could perform.
Ethan stepped back, folding his arms. Although the visor
hid his face, Cody knew the Walking Tank was smirking. That handshake had
probably forced Cody to make a hysterical face.
“Don’t let his looks deceive you,” Zack said, patting
Ethan on the back. He had to reach upwards to do so. “He’s quite the gentle
giant, if you catch my meaning.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ethan,” Cody flexed his
hand several times, satisfied with the repair work he had performed.
For a moment, the group sat in silence, waiting for Ethan
to say something back. But, he remained silent. It rattled Cody.
“Do you speak?” Cody asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“He doesn’t,” Zack explained, matter-of-factly.
Cody said, “Why not?”
“He doesn’t say,” Cealen replied.
Ethan nodded slowly in agreement. Cody was amazed at the
level of familiarity within this squad. They treated one another in an odd way,
as if they were all of the same consciousness. A setting like this in the
military was extremely atypical. Cody couldn’t exactly place his finger on the
feeling.
Casual. That was it. If he didn’t know any better, he’d
say he just walked into a fraternity. He wondered how the leaders of the
military treated this squad – they probably didn’t approve of this kind of
behavior.
Then again, of all the ultra soldiers he’d met, Delta appeared the most efficient. They
had earned a sinister reputation, after all.
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