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John could tell they were Special Forces—Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. The ODSTs had the traditionaltattoos burned onto their arms: DROP JET JUMPERS and FEET FIRST INTO HELL.
“Helljumpers”—the infamous 105th. John had overheard mess hall chatter about them. They had areputation for success . . . and for brutality, even against fellow soldiers.
John gave them a polite nod.
They just brushed past him and started on the high-gravity free weights. The largest ODST lifted the barof the bench press. He struggled and the bar wavered unsteadily. The iron plates on the right end slid offand fell to the deck. The opposite end of the bar tilted, and he dropped the weight, almost crushing hisspotter’s foot.
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Startled by the noise, John jumped up.
“What the—” The big ODST stood and glared at the locking collar that had slipped off. “Someone tookthe pin.” He growled and turned to John.
John picked up the pin. “The error was mine,” he said and stepped forward. “My apologies.”
The four ODSTs moved as one toward John. The big guy with the scars stood a hand’s breadth awayfrom John’s nose. “Why don’t you take that pin and shove it, meat?” he said, grinning. “Or better yet,maybe I should make you eat it.” He nodded to his friends.
John only knew three ways to react to people. If they were his superior officers, he obeyed them. If theywere part of his squad, he helped them. If they were a threat, he neutralized them.
So when the men surrounding him moved . . . he hesitated.
Not because he was afraid, but because these men could have fallen into any of John’s three categories.He didn’t know their rank. They were fellow servicemen in the UNSC. But, at the moment, they didn’tseem friendly.
The two men flanking him grabbed John’s biceps. The one behind him tried to slip an arm around hisneck.
John hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin to his chest so he couldn’t be choked. He whipped hisright elbow over the hand holding him, pinned it to his side, and then straight punched the man andbroke his nose.
The other three reacted, tightening their grips and stepping closer—but like the dropped pin, they movedslowly.
John ducked and slipped out of the unsuccessful headlock. He spun free, breaking the grasp of the manon his left at the same time.
“Stand down!” A booming voice echoed across the gym.
A sergeant stepped into the gym and strode toward them. Unlike Mendez, who was fit and trim and wasalways serious, this man’s stomach bulged over his belt, and he looked bemused.
John snapped to attention. The others stood there and continued to glare at John.
“Sarge,” the man with the bleeding nose said. “We were just—”
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“Did I ask you a question?” the Sergeant barked.
“No, Sergeant!” the man replied.
The Sergeant eyed John, then the ODSTs. “You’re all so eager to fight, get in the ring and go to it.”
“Sir!” John said. He went to the boxing ring, slipped through the ropes, and stood there waiting.