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"I understand, sir," Mendez replied. "You're their CO. You have to inspire and command

their respect. I'm their drill instructor. I get to be their worst nightmare." He gave Kurt a crooked smile and climbed aboard.

Shane clung to the plastic loops on the side of the Pelican's hull. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the other kids—packed so close that he wouldn't have fallen if he let go. The

roar of the Pelican's jets was deafening, but still he could hear his own heart racing in his chest.

This was the end of a journey that had started years ago. He'd heard jets like this when it started, the jets of the light freighter as it rocketed away from Harvest. It had been crowded on that ship, too… filled with refugees trying to get as far away, as fast as they could, from the monsters.

Only one in six ships had made it.

Sometimes Shane wished he hadn't lived and seen the monsters burn his family and home.

When the Navy man had come to visit him in the orphanage and asked if Shane wanted to get even with them, he immediately volunteered. No matter what it took, he was going to kill all the Covenant.

They had given him lots of tests, the written kind, blood tests, and then a month-long space trip as the Navy man collected more and more volunteers.

Shane had thought the testing was over when they final got into the PeHcans and came to this new place, but he'd barely touched the ground when they'd been shoved back inside and sent back up into the air.

He'd gotten a glimpse of the one in charge. He wore armor like Shane had seen in fairy tale books: the Green Knight who

fought dragons. That's what Shane wanted. He was going to wear armor like that one day and kill all the monsters.

"Check your straps," an old Navy man barked at him and the other kids.

Shane tugged at the black backpack that they'd put on him three minutes ago. It weighed almost as much as him, and the straps had been pulled so tight they cut into his ribs.

"Report any looseness," the man shouted over the roar of the engines.

None of the twenty other kids said anything.

"Recruits, stand by," the man barked. He listened into his headphones and then a green light blinked on a panel near his head. The man punched numbers into a keypad.

The back of the Pelican hissed open, the ramp lowered, and a tornado screamed around Shane. He yelled; so did the other kids. They all pushed and shoved to the front of the Pelican's bay.

The old Navy man stood by the open bay door, unafraid that only a meter to his rear was open sky. He regarded the squirming kids with disgust.

Behind him a dusky orange band marked the edge of the world. Twilight and lengthening shadows slipped over snowcapped mountains.

"You will form a line and jump," the man shouted. "You will count to ten and pull this." He reached up to his left shoulder, grasped the bright red handle there, and made a pretend pull motion. "Some confusion will be normal."

The kids stared at him. No one moved.

"If you cannot do this," the man said, "you cannot be a Spar-Ian. It's your choice."

Shane looked at the other kids. They looked at him.

A girl with pigtails and missing her front teeth stepped forward. "I'll go first, sir," she

yelled.

"Good girl," he said. "Go right to the edge; hang on to the guide line."

She took the tiniest baby steps to the edge of the Pelican, then froze. She took three

deep breaths and then with a squeak, she jumped. The wind caught her.

She vanished into the dark.

"Next!" the old Navy man said.

All the kids, Shane included, slowly formed a line. He couldn't believe they were doing

this. It was nuts. The next boy got to the edge, looked down, and screamed. He fell backward, and

scrambled away. "No!" he said. "No way!"

"Next!" the man called, and didn't give the kid cowering on the deck another glance.

The next boy jumped without even looking. And the next.

Then it was Shane's turn.

He couldn't move his legs.

"Hurry up, loser," the boy behind him said and gave him a shove.

Shane stumbled forward—halting only a half