Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter 7

The Compound

June 10
th
2010

Xander’s eyes followed his ceiling fan around and around as his standard-issue clock ticked to fifteen minutes to 2000. He pulled himself up from his bed, put on a pair of brown cargo pants and pulled on the jean jacket he had found with the Spartan logo patched on to his arm. He followed the street until he found a large, rectangular glass structure. Xander could see the other recruits milling about through the glass. He inhaled a lungful of air and then exhaled his worries. As he hastened to enter, Xander sensed someone behind him. He turned and saw a beautiful girl.

“Hi,” she said through a smile. Xander had seen her before; she was the girl looking through her window upon his arrival. She lived in the white house next door. She had long red curls that sometimes fell over her piercing glacier-blue eyes. She was naturally pale and had freckles dusted over her high cheekbones. She had small, sharp features and a constant natural blush upon her cheeks. The sight of her shot a tingle through Xander’s arm from his elbow to his fingertips. It was as if a tourniquet had been released and blood began to circulate again through his body, letting the warmth return to his extremities while his heart beat through his chest.

Red hair, blue eyes? I don’t think I have ever seen that combination before.

Xander almost forgot to respond.

“Hi… I’m Xander.” He couldn’t help but to hold a smile on her.

“I’m Fiona,” she said, gesturing bashfully to the door. Xander had completely forgotten to turn the knob, as he was still frozen by the sight of her. He shook his head, apologized, and opened the door for her. She went into the Mess Hall, but Xander stopped upon entry to survey the room. There were two tables for dining, and a set of pool tables, a few dart boards, and a shuffle board lined the back wall.

Even the recreational games train my aim and dexterity.

All eyes turned to Xander as the other recruits took their seats at the tables. He took the last remaining chair and sat next to a brown-haired recruit doing a crossword puzzle from the day’s newspaper. At first the other boy’s head didn’t pop up, his attention consumed by the puzzle. It wasn’t until he finished a line or two that he noticed the new kid beside him. He lifted his eyes from the paper in his lap and stuck the pen behind his ear. He flashed a wild smile and introduced himself.

“Hey, I’m Ezra. Ezra Gonet. Who are you?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“Xander.”

Ezra had a lanky quality to him that was diminished by his bulging chest, inflated by his erect posture. From the deep bags under his eyes, he looked like he needed sleep.

“That’s an odd name.”

“I guess. But it’s not like Ezra is your everyday name, either,” Xander quipped.

“Actually, it is my name every day.” They both laughed. Ezra seemed comfortable and social, even though Xander could tell his focus was constantly diverted to the crossword puzzle in his lap.

“Do you like crossword puzzles?” Xander asked, trying to continue their conversation.

“Yep! I love puzzles, codes, anagrams, whatever. I think that’s why they selected me for the program.”

Xander’s searched the room with his eyes, and his ears caught on to a nearby conversation.

“Seamus, I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” a female voice said behind him. Xander turned to see a girl with blond hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Her facial features were all straight and narrow. She had a steady and direct demeanor. She was physically developed—her muscles were toned and defined.

“Ashton, I’m not doubting ya, but we have no bloody idea what to expect,” Seamus responded. Xander inventoried the names in an effort to catch up on the recruits’ social circles.

Seamus spoke with a slight Irish accent, and he was somewhat difficult to understand as he seemed to be chomping down on an imaginary wad of gum in the corner of his mouth. He had fair skin, a sallow face, and long strawberry-blond hair down to his shoulders. Xander noticed a smudge stain of ash on his fingertips, as if he’d had a firecracker accident. Xander remembered the flashing light through the Armory windows and now concluded its source.

“Hey, it’s the new guy!” Seamus nodded toward Xander, bringing a smile to his face.

“Hi, I’m Xander.” Seamus offered a hand, which Xander shook across the table. Another hand extended, this one soft and dark. Xander shook the hand and found its owner’s eyes.

“Julia Patterson. My friends call me Jooles.” She spoke in breathy, soft tones, somehow only talking as loud as she needed to for Xander to hear her. She had stood up and introduced herself so calmly and passively that Xander had to immediately remind himself of her name, before he forgot it.

Just then the doors flung open. The recruits stood at attention. Ezra nudged Xander to follow his lead. Hardy and three others marched into the Mess Hall and positioned themselves at the podium.

“Good Evening, Spartans,” Hardy announced.

“Good Evening, Colonel Hardy.” There was a strong unison in their response.

“At ease. Take a seat.” Everyone settled back down into their chairs.

Hardy placed his notes on the podium, but before starting his speech he took a long, slow look over the Spartans before him as if sizing up each one of them. His scrutinizing look made Xander uneasy. Hardy seemed like a different man than the one who had recruited him. He was more direct and professional, and Xander realized he was now just another recruit.

“In ancient Greece there was a civilization like none the world had ever seen. This place was Sparta. Sparta was a military state that trained their youth in the ways of combat. By doing so, Sparta had the most able-bodied military in all of the Mediterranean. We need to breed a new type of soldier. Our enemies have grown accustomed to our offensive tactics and we need a new weapon. The United States government has helped finance Project Sparta, and you all are its operatives. We are contractors, dedicated to serving the best interest of this country. As contractors, we will surely be doing a lot of the dirty work on behalf of the American government but at an arm’s length, so they can claim ignorance of our activities if you get caught. Bureaucrats like plausible deniability, spies like freedom. So we brokered a deal,” Hardy put plainly.

“We have been scouting each of you through your boarding schools for the last four years and have decided that you are most promising for this program. I can assure you that each one of you is here for a specific reason. If you do not know what that is yet, I am sure you will learn quickly.”

Hardy consulted his notes. The room remained silent as he gathered the next point of his presentation.

“We will train you in three key areas of modern spy craft: combat, intelligence, and espionage. By the time your year is finished, you will be the best weapons the United States government has. Twelve months is a long time, so make yourselves at home. You will not be allowed outside these walls until summer, although some training battles will be in the field. You will then be dispatched and you will await contact for your active service assignment. Within these walls, you have no family, you have no friends, only your fellow comrades and your instructors. You will attend classes every day and you will be on time and attentive. Once the battle season starts, you will have a Tactical training battle every Sunday. These battles are training exercises that will employ what you have been taught throughout the week. You will receive a score based on how many operatives you tag. You will have specialized firearms and a wide range of other custom weapons to tag each other with. We can’t actually let you kill each other because that would cost the taxpayer a little too much.” No one laughed at the joke. “You will learn more about these battles when the season begins. There is one more important thing to cover: what is our Project’s Credo?”

Xander and his fellow recruits bellowed out in unison, “I am a Spartan. I am a Spartan who does not exist. I am a Spartan who safeguards our country from enemies both foreign and domestic. I am a Spartan who preserves the virtuous state through true Justice. I am a Spartan for life; death is the only discharge. I am a Spartan who fights for the Common Good of all. I am a Spartan, and nothing is as it seems.”

“We live those words, here, in Project Sparta.” Hardy’s eyes turned and settled on Xander.

“If you have not already noticed, our last recruit has arrived. Please stand and introduce yourself. Tell the team where you’re from.”

Xander nodded nervously and found his feet.

“My name is Xander Whitt…” He paused, showing obvious discomfort. “I don’t really know where I’m from, to be honest.” He shrank back into his seat and immediately stared at the floor between his shoes, refraining from making eye contact. A snicker sounded from the other table.

Xander was an enigma to himself. He never felt comfortable with who he was and didn’t know much about where he came from.

“We are pleased to have you, Xander,” Hardy assured before returning to the agenda. “And here are your instructors. Hardy stepped away from the podium and motioned for a very large man to approach. He took the podium and introduced himself to the recruits.

“I am your instructor in Combat and Tactical Operations, Captain James Axle.” Axle had a bald head and a goatee. His arms and shoulders were carved, solid muscle. An assault rifle hung over his back. “Why are you here?” he shouted, his voice raspy like a drill sergeant from years of barking orders.

The Spartans consulted one another with puzzled expressions.

“To learn how to fight?” The most built recruit among them spoke up with the logical answer. His voice boomed, the only bass among the choir.

“No, Bronson!” Axle replied. “You are here to become soldiers! Soldiers do not fight, they defend. Always remember that. Whether it’s yourself, your family, or, in your case, your country, weapons are defensive apparatuses. Now, what is this?” He swung the rifle from his back to his front side. Some of the Spartans leaned back in fear at the sight.

A nervous hand raised in the air.

“You, what’s your name?” Axle called on the only recruit willing to try.

“T-T-T-Tobias G-G-Greene,” stuttered the smallest recruit in the room. Tobias had a tenuous physique that appeared limp and weak. His head was overgrown and he fidgeted in a clumsy, uncoordinated manner. He wore large thin glasses that slid down the steep bridge of his nose as he introduced himself. He pushed them back up the bridge and finally made eye contact with the instructor.

“Okay, Tobias, what is this?” he repeated the question.

“Yes, um… that is the M16 assault rifle,” Tobias answered. “The average M16 muzzle velocity is three thousand one hundred and ten feet per second. That’s about nine hundred and forty-eight meters per second. The standard M16 shoots a 5.56mm caliber round, unless of course modifications have been made to the rifle.” Axle’s eyebrows shot up at seeing Tobias’s intelligence at work.

“Very good,” Axle said, careful not to give him too much credit, although, he was clearly impressed with Tobias’s intelligence. “What about this one?” Axle pulled a side arm from his holster and aimed it straight at Tobias, right between his eyes. Tobias started shaking. Tobias shrank like someone who had never had a gun pointed directly at him. Axle cocked his head from behind the barrel. “What is it?” he demanded.

Is he going to shoot Tobias if he gives the wrong answer?

Xander’s eyes darted to Hardy who stayed put and looked on with no objection.

“That is a… M1911 p-p-p-pistol.” Tobias’s lips quivered, the stutter returned. “It t-t-takes a forty-five caliber and the b-b-bullets travel about—” Axle cocked the gun, sending another shudder through Tobias. Tobias was losing it as he stared down the barrel of the gun. “I … can’t remember.”

“Eight hundred twenty-five feet per second,” Axle said with disappointment. He lowered his firearm and holstered it. “You’re only as smart as your mind under pressure.” He offered Tobias a comforting wink. “You will learn how to treat and use your weapon as if your life depends on it, because I can assure you it does.” Axle stepped away from the podium, leaving Tobias shaken from the interaction. The lone female instructor then approached the podium with a calm serenity.

“I am your espionage instructor, Juliette Rearden.” She was a physically unremarkable person. She had standard brown hair, she wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t ugly, she wasn’t fat or skinny. Rearden looked like an average Jane. Some of the Spartans were unimpressed, but Xander knew that her bland appearance was intentional. Xander knew that was exactly how she wanted to look. Rearden was almost unnoticeable, exactly what an espionage expert would want.

“If you get caught, no one will bargain for you. Remember, we are contractors. We are not military. We do not exist. I will teach you the stealth necessary to conduct yourselves in the field, as well as in your personal life. You will all be living as different people when you leave the Compound. You are now full-time spies. Even your civilian identity is an alias. Identity is paramount in this line of work. Any questions?”

Jooles raised a hand, seemingly interested in this field of training.