The problem with Master Chief

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By Logan Booker
11:39 Apr 15, 2008

Murderous alien invaders and saving the world he could deal with, but when it came to map reading, the Master Chief had a serious problem.

It was one of those silly things he’d never bothered to mention to his superiors during training. Hell, the Chief reasoned, why do I need to read maps when they just drop me on top of what I need to blow up? And surely knowing how to fire a tripod machinegun from the hip while smoking a cigar is more important than being able to find the closest Wendy’s?

His squad, however, begged to differ. They’d already lost Sampson after the Chief had inadvertently marched him into the middle of an allied minefield, and Davidson had been sent ahead to scout hours ago. As far as the Chief knew, with the directions he’d given him, he had just as much chance of finding Atlantis as he did the forward Covenant base.

As the Chief continued to stare in feigned understanding at the map, McDonough, his second-in-command, approached.

‘Sir? It’s been ten minutes. Do you know where we are?’

The Chief confidently raised his head. ‘Yes, yes of course.’

‘No more minefields I take it then?’ The Chief’s helmet hid his grimace. It was quickly replaced determined scowl; he was going to make this right. He pulled the map between them and pointed at a location towards the centre of the document. ‘You see that depression there? The one surrounded by trees, with the rock outcropping that provides an almost perfectly defensible position?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m quietly confident that we’re nowhere near it.’

McDonough sighed. Before the 2IC could take a proper look at the map, the Chief pulled it away. ‘What does your compass say, sir?’

The Chief stared at him in confusion. Not that McDonough could see that. ‘Compass? When did they give us those?’

‘It’s standard issue, sir. Just check that pocket on your suit.’ He pointed at the Master Chief’s hip.

‘What, that one?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Ah.’

McDonough sighed again. ‘What is it, sir?’

‘What would you say, if I was tell you I took my compass out and, uh, replaced it with a spare clip.’

‘Well, if you were anyone else, I’d say you were an idiot.’

‘Oh, well that’s good then.’

They stared at each other for a few moments, as their competing intelligences fought to understand one another from two wildly different levels. While the Master Chief contemplated how he might acquire a new compass from McDonough, the 2IC tried desperately to understand how the Chief found the brain power to inflate and deflate his lungs at regular intervals.

‘I don’t suppose you have a spare?’

‘No sir. No I don’t.’ McDonough took a deep breath. ‘Look, why don’t I take a look?’

The Master Chief shrugged and handed him the map. McDonough survey the plastic-coated parchment for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘You do, uh, you do realise that this isn’t a map. It’s Risk.’

‘What?’

‘It’s the play board for Risk. You sent Davidson to invade East Germany.’

‘Well, he’s going to have some trouble doing that all by himself, I imagine.’

McDonough sighed. They’d be lucky to make it back to base alive.

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Issue: 133 | February, 2012

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