D+144:38:19 (Lieutenant McKay Mission Clock) /The hills between Alpha Base and thePillar of Autumn .
Three parallel columns of vehicles are pretty hard to hide, and McKaydidn’t even try. The combination of some thirty Warthogs and four Scorpionsraised a cloud of dust that was visible from more than two kilometers away.
No doubt the heat produced by the machines registered on sensors clear outin space. Banshee recon flights could have tracked them from the minute theyhit the trail, and there was only one logical place the vehicles could beheaded: the butte called Alpha Base.
It wasn’t too surprising that the Covenant not only organized a response,but a massive one. Here, after days of humiliation, was the opportunity torevenge themselves on the beings who had taken the butte away from them,paid a surprise visit to theTruth and Reconciliation , and raided more thana dozen other locations besides.
Knowing she was in for a fight, McKay organized the vehicles into threetemporary platoons. The first platoon was comprised of Warthogs under thecommand of Lieutenant Oros. She had orders to ignore ground targets andconcentrate on defending the column from airborne attacks.
Sergeant Lister was in charge of the second platoon’s Scorpion Main BattleTanks, which, because of their vulnerability to infantry, were kept at thecenter of the formation.
The third platoon, under McKay herself, was charged with ground defense,which meant keeping Ghosts and infantry off the other two platoons. A thirdof her vehicles, five Warthogs in all, were unencumbered by trailers andleft free to serve as a quick reaction force.
By giving each platoon its own individual assignment, the officer hoped toleverage the Company’s overall effectiveness, ensure fire discipline, andreduce the possibility of casualties caused by friendly fire, a real dangerin the kind of melee that she expected.
As the Marines headed east toward Alpha Base, the first challenge lay at thepoint where the flat terrain ended. Hills rolled up off the plain to form amaze of canyons, ravines, and gullies which, if the humans were foolishenough to enter them, would force the vehicles to proceed single file, whichrendered the convoy vulnerable to air and ground attacks. There was adifferent route, however, a pass approximately half a klick wide. All threecolumns could pass through it without breaking formation.
The problem, and a rather obvious one, was the fact that a pair of rathersizable hills stood guard to either side of the pass, providing the Covenantwith the perfect platform from which to fire down on them.
As if that weren’t bad enough, athird hill lay just beyond, creating asecond gate through which the humans would have to pass before gaining thefreedom of the plain beyond. It was a daunting prospect—and McKay felt arising sense of despair as the company drew within rifle shot of theopposing hills. She wasn’t especially religious—but the ancient psalmseemed to form itself in her mind. “Yea, though I walk through the valleyof the shadow of death . . .”
Screw it,she thought. She ordered the convoy to lock and load and preparefor a fight. Psalms weren’t going to win the coming fight. Firepower would.
From his vantage point high on what Covenant forces had designated as“Second Hill,” the Elite Ado ’Mortumee used a powerful monocular to eyethe human convoy. With the exception of five vehicles, the rest of the alienLRVs were hooked to heavily laden trailers, which prevented them from makingmuch speed. Also serving to slow the convoy down was the presence of four ofthe humans’ cumbersome tanks.
Rather than risk passage through the hills, their commanding officer hadopted to use the pass. Understandable, but a mistake for which the humanwould pay.
’Mortumee lowered the monocular and turned to look at the Wraith. Thoughnot normally a fan of the slow-firing, lumpy-looking tanks, he had to admitthat the design was perfect for the work at hand, and in combination with anidentical unit stationed on First Hill, the monster at his elbow was certainto make short work of the oncoming convoy.
The counterthreat, if that’s what it was, would come from the armoredbehemoths which rolled along at the very center of the human formation.
Theylooked powerful, but never having seen one in action, and having foundprecious little data on them within the Intel files, ’Mortumee wasn’t surewhat to expect.
“So,” a voice said from behind him, “the Council of Masters has sent me aspy. Tell me,spy, who are you here to watch: the humans or me?”
’Mortumee turned to find that Field Master Noga ’Putumee had approachedhim from behind, something he did rather quietly for such a large being.
Though known for his bravery, and his leadership in the field, ’Putumee wasalso famous for his blunt, confrontational, and paranoid ways. There was agood deal of truth in the officer’s half-serious suggestion, however, since’Mortumee had been sent to watch both the Field Masterand the enemy.
’Mortumee ignored the field commander’s blunt tone, and clicked hismandibles. “Someone has to count all the human bodies, write the reportcelebrating your latest victory, and lay the groundwork for your nextpromotion.”
If there was a chink in ’Putumee’s psychological armor it was in thevicinity of his ego, and ’Mortumee would have sworn that he saw the otherofficer’s already massive chest expand slightly in response to the praise.
“If words were troops you would lead a mighty army indeed. So, spy, are theBanshees ready?”
“Ready and waiting.”
“Excellent,” ’Putumee replied. The gold-armored Elite turned his ownmonocular on the approaching convoy. “Order the attack.”
“As you order, Excellency.”
’Putumee nodded.
McKay heard the incoming Banshees and the prospect of action banished herbutterflies to a less noticeable sector of her stomach. The sound started asa low drone, quickly transformed itself into a buzz, then morphed into abloodcurdling wail as the officer keyed her mike.
“This is Red One: We have hostile aircraft inbound. First Platoon is clearto engage. Everyone else will remain on standby. This is the warm-up,people, so stay sharp. There’s more on the way. Over and out.”
There were five flights of ten Banshees each, and the first group camethrough the pass so low that ’Mortumee found himself lookingdown on thewave of aircraft. Sun glinted off the burnished, reflective metal of theBanshees’ wings.
It was tempting to jump into his own aircraft and join them, thrilling tothe feel of the low altitude flight, as well as the steadyboom ing ofoutgoing plasma fire. Such pleasures were denied the spy if he was tomaintain the objectivity required to carry out his important work.
Eager to have the first crack at the humans, and determined to leave nothingfor subsequent flights to shoot at, the pilots of the first wave fired themoment they came within range.
First Platoon’s Marines saw the aircraft appear low on the horizon, watchedthe blobs of lethal energy blip their way, and knew better than to engageindividual targets. Not yet, anyway. Instead, consistent with the ordersthat Lieutenant Oros had given, the Helljumpers aimed their M41 LAAGs at apoint just west of the pass, and opened fire all at once. The Bansheesdidn’t have brakes, and the pilots had just started to turn, when they ranright into the meat grinder.
’Mortumee understood the problem right away, as did ’Putumee, who orderedthe following waves to break up and attack the convoy independently.
The orders came too late for eight of the first ten aircraft, which wereripped into thousands of pieces, and fell like smoking snow.
A pair of the flyers got through the storm of gunfire. One of the Bansheesmanaged to hit a Warthog with a burst of superheated plasma, killing thegunner, and slagging his weapon. The LRV continued to roll, however—whichmeant that the trailer and its load of supplies did as well.
Once through the hail of bullets, the surviving Banshees turned and lined upfor a second pass.
As the second flight of Covenant aircraft arrived from the east, split up,and launched individual attacks, Field Master ’Putumee barked an order intohis radio. The mortar tanks on First and Second Hills fired in unison. Blue-white orbs of fire, trailing tendrils of energy, shot high into the sky,hung suspended for a moment, then began to fall.
The plasma mortars fell with a deliberate, almost casual slowness. Theyarced gracefully into the ground and a deafening thunderclap shook theground. Neither round found a target, but these were ranging shots, and thatwas to be expected.
McKay heard a Marine say, “What the hell wasthat?” over the command freq,then heard Lister tear a strip off him.
She couldn’t help but wonder the same thing herself. The truth was thatwhile the officer knew the vehicles existed, she’d never seen a Wraith tankin action, and wasn’t sure if that was what she faced. It didn’t mattermuch, though, because the weapon in question was quite clearly lethal, andwould cause havoc in the close quarters of the pass. She keyed her radio.
“Red One to Green One: Those ‘energy bombs’ originated from thosehilltops. Let’s give the bastards a haircut. Over.”
“This is Green One,”Lister acknowledged.“Roger that, over.”
There was a burst of static as Lister switched to his platoon’s freq,though McKay could hear every word on the command channel.
“Green One to Foxtrot One and Two: lay some high explosive on the hill tothe left. Over.”
“Green One to Foxtrot Three and Four: ditto the hill to the right. Over.”
Banshees wheeled, turned, and poured fire down on the hapless humans as oneof the pilots fired his fuel rod cannon and scored a direct hit. A trailerfull of precious ammo exploded, wrapped the Warthog in a fiery embrace, andtook the LRV with it. Covenant forces watching from the hilltops felt asense of exultation, and more than that, the pleasure of revenge.
’Mortumee was there to document the battle, not celebrate it, though hewatched in fascination as two of the tank turrets swiveled to his left inorder to fire on First Hill, while two turned in the opposite direction andseemed to point directly athim .
The Elite wondered if he should seek cover, but before the message to movecould reach his feet, he heard a reverberating roar as the 105mm shellpassed through the intervening air space, followed by a loudcraack! as theshell landed about fifty units away. A column of bloody dirt flew high intothe air. Body parts, weapons, and pieces of equipment continued to rain downas the half-deafened ’Mortumee recovered his composure and ran for cover.
Field Master ’Putumee laughed out loud and pointed to show a member of hisstaff where ’Mortumee had taken shelter behind some rocks. That was whenthe second round detonated just below the summit of the hill and started asmall landslide. “This,” the Elite said happily, “is areal battle. Keepan eye on the spy.”
Stung by the loss of a Warthog, a trailer-load of ammo, and three Marines,McKay was starting to question the division of labor she had imposed, andwas just about to free her platoon’s gunners to fire on the Banshees, whenher driver said, “Uh-oh, look at that!”
A series of plasma bolts stitched a line along the ’Hog’s side, scorchedthe vehicle’s paint, and kicked up geysers of dirt as the officer followedthe pointing finger. A force of Ghosts skittered into the pass.
“Red One to all Romeo units . . . follow me!” McKay yelled into her mike,and tapped the driver’s arm. “Go get ’em, Murphy—let’s clear thatgap.”
No sooner had the officer spoken than the Marine put his foot into it, thegunner whooped, and the LRV leapt forward.
The rest of the five-vehicle reaction force followed just as the Wraith onHill One hurled a third then a fourth plasma ball high into the sky.
McKay looked up, saw the fireball slow to a near stop at the point ofapogee, and knew it would be a race. Would the bomb land on top of thereaction force? Or, would the fast-moving ’Hogs slip out from under it,leaving the plasma charge to explode harmlessly on the ground?
The gunner saw the threat as well, and yelled, “Go! Go! Go!” as the driverswerved to avoid a clutch of rocks, did his best to push the acceleratorthrough the floor. He mumbled, “Damn, damn, damn,” as he felt somethingwet and warm puddle on his seat.
The energy bomb fell with increasing velocity. The first LRV slippedunderneath it, quickly followed by the second and third.
Heart in her throat, McKay looked back over her shoulder as the plasmaweapon landed, detonated, and blew a large crater out of the ground.
Then, like a miracle on wheels, Romeo Five flew through the smoke, bouncedas it hit the edge of the newly created crater, and lurched up over the rim.
There was no time to celebrate as the Ghosts pulled into range and the leadvehicle opened fire. McKay raised her assault rifle, took aim at the nearestblur, and squeezed the trigger.
Master Sergeant Lister faced a harsh reality. Never mind Banshees thatswooped overhead, or the Ghosts up ahead, it was his job to do somethingabout the mortar fire, and as the hills loomed ahead, Second Platoon’sScorpions were coming up on the point when their main guns would no longerbe able to elevate high enough to engage the primary target. One more salvo,that’s what the tanks could deliver, before their weapons could no longerbe brought to bear.
“Wake up, people,” Lister said over the platoon frequency, “the lastgroup on the left was at least fifteen meters too low, and the last group onthe right overshot the hill. Make adjustments, take the tops off thosehills, and do itnow . We don’t have time to screw around.”
Each tank commander adjusted aim, sent their shells on the way, and prayedfor a hit. They all knew that facing the Covenant would be easier thansuffering Lister’s wrath should the shells miss their marks.
Field Master ’Putumee watched impassively as the Wraith on First Hillexploded, taking a file of Jackals with it. He was sorry to lose the mortartank, but the truth was that with two dozen Ghosts milling around in thepass below, he was going to have to cease fire anyway. Either that or riskkilling his own troops. The Elite snapped an order, saw one last fireballsail into the air, and watched the humans enter the gap.
Lance Corporal “Snaky” Jones was screwed, he knew that, had known it eversince the front end of his ’Hog took a hit and flipped end-for-end. He wasstanding behind the LAAG, firing forward over the driver’s head, when hewas suddenly catapulted into the air. Jones saw a blur, hit hard, andtumbled head over heels. Once his body came to a stop the Marine discoveredthat it was almost impossible to breathe, which was why he just lay there atfirst, staring up into the amazing blue sky as he gasped for air.
It was pretty,very pretty, until a Banshee screamed through the picture anda Warthog roared past on the left.
That was when Jones managed to scramble to his feet, and yelled into hisboom mike, only to discover that it was missing. Not just the mike, but hisentire helmet, which had come loose during the fall. No helmet meantnomike,no radio, andno possibility of a pickup.
The Lance Corporal swore, ran toward the wrecked Warthog, and gave thanksfor the fact that it hadn’t caught fire. The vehicle was resting on itsside and the S2 was right where he had left it—clamped butt down behind thedriver’s seat.
It was hard to see Sergeant Corly strewn over the rear fender with half herface blown away, so Jones averted his eyes. His rucksack, the one thatcontained extra ammo, a med pack, and the stuff he had looted from thePillarof Autumn , was right where he had left it, secured to the bottom of the gunpedestal.
Jones grabbed the pack, slung it across his back, and grabbed the sniperrifle. He made sure the rifle was ready to fire, then clicked on the safetyand ran for the nearest hill. Maybe he could find a cave, wait for thebattle to end, and haul ass back to Alpha Base. Dust puffed away from theMarine’s boots and death hung all around.
Lieutenant Oros estimated that First Platoon had reduced the number ofattacking aircraft by two thirds—and she had a plan to deal with the rest.
McKay wouldn’t approve—but what was the CO going to do? Send her to Halo?
The Lieutenant grinned, gave the necessary order, and jumped down to theground.
She waved to the volunteers from four of the thirteen Warthogs she hadremaining, then scampered toward a group of likely-looking rocks. All fiveof the Marines carried M19 SSM Rocket Launchers slung across their backs,plus assault weapons, and as many spare rockets as they could carry in thetwin satchels that hung from their hands. They pounded across the hardpan,scurried into the protection offered by the surrounding boulders, and set upshop.
When everyone was ready, Oros pulled the pins on one flare after another,tossed them out beyond the circle of rocks, and watched the orange smokebillow up into the sky.
It wasn’t long before the Banshee pilots spotted the smoke and, likevultures attracted to fresh carrion, hurried to the scene.
The Marines held their fire, waited until no less than thirteen of theCovenant aircraft were circling above them, and fired five rockets, all atonce. A second volley followed the first—and a third followed that. Therewas a steady drumbeat of explosions as ten Banshees took direct hits, somefrom multiple rockets, and ceased to exist.
Of the aircraft that survived the barrage of rockets, two bugged outimmediately. The last staggered in response to a near miss, belched smokefrom its port engine, and looked like it would go down. Oros thought it wasover at that point, that she and her volunteers would be free to fade intothe hills, and beat feet for home.
But it wasn’t to be. Unlike most of his peers, the pilot in the damagedBanshee must have had a strong desire to transcend the physical, because heturned toward the enemy, put the aircraft into a steep dive, and plungedinto the pile of boulders. Oros tried to make the shot but missed—andbarely had time to swear before the mortally wounded Banshee augered intothe rocks and swallowed the ambush team in a ball of fire.
The fact that Lance Corporal Jones made it all the way to the base of thehill without getting killed was just plain luck. The subsequent scramble upthrough the loose tumble of rocks was instinctual. The desire to gainelevation is natural to any soldier, but especially to a sniper, which waswhat Jones had been trained to be when he wasn’t busy humping supplies,operating LAAGs, or taking crap from sergeants.
The fact that Jones was about to go on the offensive, about to take it tothe Covenant,that was a decision. Maybe not the smartest decision he’d evermade, but one he knew to be right, and to hell with the consequences.
Jones was only halfway up the side of the hill, but that was high enough tosee the top of theopposite hill, and the tiny figures who stood there. Notthe Grunts who were running this way and that, not the Jackals who lined theedge of the summit, but the shiny armor of the Elites. Those were thetargets he wanted, and they seemed to leap forward as the Marine increasedthe magnification on his scope, and let the barrel drift slightly. Whichlife should he take? The one on the left with the blue armor? Or the one onthe right, the shiny gold bastard? At that moment in time, in thatparticular place, Lance Corporal Jones was God.
He clicked the sniper rifle’s safety catch, and lightly rested his fingeron the trigger.
’Mortumee had emerged from hiding by that time and was standing next toField Master ’Putumee as the human convoy cleared the pass and turned up-ring. There was a third hill off to his left—and it, too, was topped with aWraith.
The mortar tank opened fire. For one brief moment ’Mortumee harbored thehope that the remaining tank would accomplish what the first two had not anddecimate the convoy. But the humans were still out of range, and, knowingthat the Wraith couldn’t do them any harm, they took the time to put theirown tanks into a line abreast.
A single salvo was all it took. All four of the shells landed on target, themortar tank was destroyed, and the way was clear.
’Putumee lowered his monocular. His face was expressionless. “So, spy, howwill your report read?”
’Mortumee looked at the other Elite with a pitying expression. “I’msorry, Excellency, but the facts are clear, and the report will practicallywrite itself. Had you deployed your forces differently, down on the plainperhaps, victory would have been ours.”
“An excellent point,” the Field Master replied, his tone mild. “Hindsightis always perfect.”
’Mortumee was about to reply, about to say something about the value offoresight, when his head exploded.
Lance Corporal Jones steadied his aim for a second shot. The first shot hadbeen perfect. The 14.5mm slug had flown true, entered the base of BlueBoy’s neck, and exited through the top of his head. That blew his helmetoff, allowing a mixture of blood and brains to fountain into the air.
’Putumee snarled and threw himself backward—and thereby escaped the secondbullet.
Moments later, the twin reports echoed back and forth between the twohillsides. The Field Master crabbed back to cover and fed positioninformation to the Banshee commander, and snarled into his communicationsgear: “Sniper! Kill him!”
Satisfied that the sniper would be dealt with, ’Putumee stood and lookeddown at ’Mortumee’s headless body. He bared his fangs. “It looks likeI’ll have to write that report myself.”
Jones spat into the dirt, angry that the gold Elite had evaded the secondshot.Next time, he promised himself.You’re minenext time, pal . Bansheesbanked overhead, searching for his position. Jones backed into a deepcrevice among the rocks. Fortunately, thanks to the loot gathered aboardtheAutumn , he had twenty candy bars to sustain him.
The security system neutralized, the Master Chief made his way back throughthe alien construct, and headed toward the surface. Time to find this“Silent Cartographer” and complete this phase of the mission.
“Mayday! Mayday! Bravo 22 taking enemy fire! Repeat, we are taking fire andlosing altitude.”The dropship pilot’s strained voice was harsh and grating—the sound of a man about to lose it.
“Understood,” Cortana replied. “We’re on our way.”
Then, in an aside to the Spartan, the AI said, “I don’t like the sound ofthat—I’m not certain they’re going to make it.”
The Master Chief agreed, and in his eagerness to get topside, made apotentially fatal error. Having just cleared the room adjacent to whatappeared to be the ring world’s Security Center, he assumed that itwasstill clear.
Fortunately, the Elite—equipped with another of the Covenant’s camouflagedevices—announced his presence with a throaty roar just prior to firing hisweapon. Plasma fire still splashed the Chief’s chest, followed by a briefmoment of disorientation as he tried to figure out where the attack wascoming from. His motion sensor detected movement, and he aimed his weapon asbest he could. He fired a sustained burst and was rewarded with an alienscream of pain.
As the Covenant warrior fell, the Master Chief made a mad dash for the rampthat led up toward the surface, reloading as he went. Walking into the once-cleared room too quickly had been stupid—and he was determined not to makethe same mistake again. The fact that Cortana was there, seeing the worldvia his sensors, made such errors that much more embarrassing. Somehow, forreasons he hadn’t had time to sort out, the human wanted the AI’sapproval. Silly? Maybe so, if one thought of Cortana as little more than afancy computer program, but she was more than that. In the Chief’s mind atleast.
He smiled at the irony of the thought. The human-AI interface meant that, inmany ways, Cortana wasliterally in the Chief’s mind, using some of hiswetware for processing power and storage.
The Spartan made his way up the ramp, through a hall, and out into brightsunlight. He paused on a platform, and dropped to the slope below, asCortana cautioned him to keep an eye peeled for Bravo 22.
Covenant troops were patrolling the beach below—a mix of Jackals andGrunts. The Master Chief drew his sidearm, switched to the 2X magnification,and decided to work from right to left. He nailed the first Jackal, missedthe next, and killed a pair of Grunts who were waddling around on top of themesa opposite his position.
As he moved farther down the slope, he could see Bravo 22’s wreckage, halfburied in the side of the mesa. There were no signs of life. Either the crewand passengers had been killed on impact, or some had survived and beenexecuted by the enemy.
The possibility made him particularly angry. He turned to the right, caughtthe surviving Jackal on the move, and put him down. He switched to his MA5Band made his way down the grassy slope to the sand beyond. It was a shortwalk to the smoking wreckage and the scattering of bodies. Plasma burns onsome of the bodies served to confirm the Spartan’s suspicions.
Though not the most pleasant of tasks, the Chief knew he had to obtain ammoand other supplies wherever he could, and took advantage of the situation inorder to stock up.
“Don’t forget to grab a launcher,” Cortana put in. “There’s no tellingwhat might be waiting for us when we go back to looking for the ControlRoom.”
The Master Chief took the AI’s advice and decided to ride rather than walk.
The Warthog that had been tucked under the dropship’s belly had come looseduring the final moments of flight, hit the ground, and flipped over on itsside. He approached the vehicle, reached upward, got a good purchase, andpulled. Metal creaked as the ’Hog swayed, tilted in the Spartan’sdirection, and started to fall. He stepped back, waited for the inevitablebounce, and climbed up behind the wheel. After a quick check to ensure thatthe LRV was still operable, he was off.
He skidded the Warthog into a slewing turn, then headed back to the missionLZ—the beachhead the Marines had been left to hold.
The Helljumpers had fought off two assaults during his absence, but theystill owned the real estate they had originally taken, and remainedundeterred.
“Welcome back,” a Corporal said as she took her place behind the three-barreled gun. “It was getting boring without you.” She had a grimy face,the wordsCUT HERE tattooed around the circumference of her neck, and a short,stocky body.
The Chief eyed the hastily dug weapons pits and foxholes, the large pile ofCovenant corpses, and the plasma-scorched sand. “Yeah, I can see that.”
A freckle-faced PFC jumped into the passenger seat, a captured plasma riflecradled in his arms. The Spartan turned back in the direction he had comefrom, and raced along the edge of the water. Spray flew up along the leftside of the LRV and he wished he could feel the moisture on his face.
A kilometer ahead, a Hunter named Igido Nosa Hurru fumed as he paced backand forth across a docking platform still stained with Covenant blood. Wordhad come down from an Elite named Zuka ’Zamamee that a lone human hadkilled two of his brothers a few hours earlier, and was about to attack hisnewly reinforced position, as well. This was something the spined warriorhoped would happen so that he, and his bond brother Ogada Nosa Fasu, couldhave the honor of killing the alien.
So, when Hurru heard the whine of the surface vehicle’s engine, and saw itround the headland, both he and his bond brother were ready. Having receivedthe other Hunter’s characteristic nod, Hurru took up a position directlyoutside the entrance to the complex.If the vehicle was some sort of trick, aruse to lure both guards away from the door long enough for the human toslip inside, it wasn’t going to work.
Fasu, always one to seize the initiative, and something of an artist withthe fuel rod cannon attached to his right arm, waited for the LRV to comewithin range, led the vehicle to ensure that the relatively slow-movingenergy pulse would have an adequate amount of time to reach its destination,and fired a single shot.
The Master Chief saw the yellow-green blob appear in his peripheral vision,and made the decision to turn toward the enemy both to make the ’Hog looksmaller and to give the Corporal an opportunity to fire. But he ran out oftime. The Spartan had just started to spin the wheel when the energy pulseslammed into the side of the Warthog and flipped the vehicle over.
All three of the humans were thrown free. The Master Chief scrambled to hisfeet and looked up-slope in time to see a Hunter drop down from thestructure above, absorb the shock with its massive knees, and move forward.
Both the Corporal and the freckle-faced youngster were back on their feet bythen, but the noncom, who had never seen a Hunter before, much less gonehead-to-head with one, yelled, “Come on, Hosky! Let’s take this bastardout!”
The Spartan yelled, “No! Fall back!” and bent over to retrieve the rocketlauncher. Even as he barked the order, he knew there simply wasn’t time.
Another Spartan might have been able to dodge out of the way in time, butthe Helljumpers didn’t have a prayer.
The distance between the alien and the two Marines had closed by then andthey couldn’t disengage. The Corporal threw a fragmentation grenade, saw itexplode in front of the oncoming monster, and stared in disbelief as thealien kept on coming. The alien charged right through the flying shrapnel,bellowed some sort of war cry, and lowered a gigantic shoulder.
Private Hosky was still firing when the gigantic shield hit him, shatteredhalf the bones in his body, and threw what was left onto the ground. Theprivate remained conscious, however, which meant he was able to lie thereand watch as the Hunter lifted his boot high into the air, and brought itdown on his face.
The Master Chief had the launcher up on his shoulder by then and was justabout to fire when the Corporal screamed something incoherent, dashed intothe line of fire, and blocked his shot. The Chief yelled at her to hit thedeck and was moving sideways in an attempt to get a clear line of fire whenFasu blew a hole the size of a dinner plate through the leatherneck’schest.
The Spartan hit the firing stud, and a rocketwhoosh ed for the Hunter. Withsurprising agility, the massive alien hunched and sidestepped, and therocket skimmed past him. It detonated behind the Hunter, and showered themboth with debris.
The Hunter charged.
The Master Chief stepped back, knew there wouldn’t be time to reload, andthat the next rocket would have to fly straight and true. The surf swirledaround his knees as he backed out into the ocean, fought to maintain hisfooting in the soft sand, and saw the alien fill his sight. Was the targettoo close? There wasn’t time to check. He pulled the trigger, and a secondrocket streaked ahead on a column of smoke and fire.
The Hunter had reached full speed and couldn’t dodge in time. Thecreature’s massive feet dug into the soft ground as it tried to altercourse to avoid the rocket—to no avail. The 102mm shaped charge explodedagainst the very center of the Hunter’s chest armor, blew through historso, and severed his spine. There was a mighty splash as the aliencreature fell face first into the water. A pool of vibrant orange bloodstained the surf around the fallen Hunter.
The Master Chief took a moment to reload the launcher then slogged back uponto the beach. A distant howl of anguish issued from the other alien’sthroat.Serves you right, he thought.You only lost one brother. I lost all ofmine.
He felt a pang of sorrow for the two dead Marines. Heshould have anticipatedthe long-range attack, should have briefed the leathernecks about thepossibility of Hunters, should have reacted more quickly. All of which meantthat it washis fault that the Marines were dead.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Cortana said gently. “Now be careful—there’sanother Hunter up on the platform.”
The words were like a bucket of cold water in the face. “Mental combat,”
that’s how his teacher, Chief Mendez, had referred to it, always stressingthe importance of a cool head.
Slowly, methodically, the Master Chief worked his way up the slope, killingCovenant soldiers with machine precision. The small groups of Grunts wereirrelevant. Thereal challenge waited above.
Hurru heard the firing, knew he was being flanked, and welcomed it. Rage,sorrow, and self-pity all churned around inside him causing him to fire hisfuel rod cannon again and again, as if to obliterate the human by the weightof his barrage.
The human made good use of what cover there was, put his left arm againstthe cliff face, and inched his way forward. The Hunter saw him and attemptedto fire, but the fuel rod cannon hadn’t had time to recharge after the lastshot. That left the human free to fire, which he did. Hurru felt warmrelief.
He was about to join his bond brother.
The rocket was a hair high, hit Hurru in the head, and blew it off. Orangeblood fountained straight up, splashed the alien metal around the Hunter,and splattered his body as it collapsed.
The Spartan paused, switched to his assault weapon, and waited for thefeeling of satisfaction. It never arrived. The Marines were still dead,wouldalways be dead, and nothing would change that. Was it fair that heremained alive? No, it wasn’t. All he could do was accomplish what theywould want him to do. Forge ahead, find the map, and make their deaths countfor something.
With that thought in mind, the Master Chief reentered the complex on foot,made his way through halls still slick with alien blood from his last visit,turned down the ramp, proceeded to the lower level, and passed through thedoor he had worked so hard to open.
The Master Chief moved into the bowels of the structure. From outside, thespires stood several stories high, which was misleading. The interior of thestructure plunged deep below the surface.
He wound down a curving ramp. The air was still and slightly stale, andthick pillars of the first large chamber he moved through made the room feellike a crypt.
He slipped through heavily shadowed rooms, padded down spiral ramps, passingthrough galleries filled with strange forms. The walls and floors were madeof the same burnished, heavily engraved metal that he’d encounteredelsewhere on the ring. He clicked on his light and noticed new patterns inthe metal, like the swirls in marble—as if the material were some kind ofmetal-stone hybrid.
The tomblike silence was shattered by the squalling of several Grunts andJackals. There was opposition,plenty of it, as the human was forced to dealwith dozens of Grunts, Jackals, and Elites. “It’s as if they knew we wereon the way,” Cortana observed. “I think someone is tracking our progress,and has a pretty good idea of where we’re headed.”
“No kidding,” the Master Chief replied dryly as he shot a Grunt andstepped over the body. “I hope we reach the Cartographer before I run outof ammo.”
“We’re close,” the AI assured him, “but be careful. There’s bound to bemore Covenant ahead.”
The Master Chief took Cortana’s counsel to heart. He hoped that he wouldfind a way to bypass whatever the Covenant had in store, but that wasn’t tobe. As the Spartan entered a large room, he saw that two Hunters had beenassigned to patrol the far side of it. He slung his rifle and readied therocket launcher. It was the right weapon for Hunters, no question about that—so long as he didn’t allow either one of the monsters to get too close. Arocket fired under those conditions would killhim if it detonated nearby.
One of the spined aliens spotted the intruder and bellowed a challenge. TheHunter was already in motion when the rocket flashed across the room, struckhim in the right shoulder, and blasted him to hell.
A second Hunter howled and fired his fuel rod cannon. The Chief swore as thewash from a slightly off-target plasma bolt set off the audible alarm, andthe indicator in the upper right hand corner of his HUD morphed to red.
The Spartan turned, hoping to put the second Hunter in his sight, but themassive alien slid behind a wall.
Unable to fire, he backed off. The Hunter lunged forward, and the deadlyrazor-spines raked across his already-weakened shields.
The Chief grunted in pain as the tip of the uppermost spine spiked throughhis armor’s shoulder joint. He felt a sickly tearing as the meat of his armparted beneath the scalpel-sharp limb.
He spun, and the spine wrenched free.
The Master Chief felt a rising sense of frustration as he switched to theassault weapon, backed up a ramp, and used his greater mobility to circlebehind the alien. Then he had it, a brief glimpse of unprotected flesh, andthe opportunity he needed. He put a quick burst into the warrior’s back,spun away, and barely escaped a blast from the plasma pistols of the Jackalsthat had dropped into view and opened fire.
The Master Chief hurled three grenades over a divider. One of them scored adirect hit, sprayed the walls with chunks of alien flesh, and finallybrought the frantic firefight to an end.
Cortana, whose life had been on the line as well, and who had been forced towatch as the Spartan fought for both of them, processed a sense of relief.
Somehow, against all odds, her human host had come through again, but it hadbeen close,very close, and he was still in something akin to shock, his backpressed into a corner, his vital signs badly elevated, his eyes jerking fromone shadow to the next.
The AI hesitated as she processed the dilemma. It was difficult to balancethe need to move ahead and complete the mission with her concern that shemight push the Master Chieftoo hard, and possibly endanger them both.
Cortana’s affection for the human, plus her own desire to survive, made itdifficult for her to arrive at the kind of clear, rational decision that sheexpected of herself.
Then, just as Cortana was about to say something, anything, even if it waswrong, the Chief recovered and took the initiative. “All right,” he said—whether to himself or to Cortana wasn’t exactly clear. “It’s time tofinish this mission.”
Working carefully, so as not to walk into an ambush, the Master Chief leftthe large room, found his way onto a downward slanting ramp. He backed intoa corner and, satisfied that the area was reasonably secure, disengaged theshoulder plates of the MJOLNIR armor.
The wound was ragged, and blood flowed freely. The Chief could ignore thepain, but the blood loss would take its toll and jeopardize the mission. Hemade sure the motion sensor was still active, then slung his weapon.
He dug into his equipment pack and drew out his med kit. The Spartan hadbeen wounded before, and had on several occasions performed first aid oninjured comrades and himself. He quickly cleaned the wound, sprayed astinging puff of bio-foam into the wound, then applied a quick-adhesivedressing.
In minutes, he had suited up, popped a wake-up stim, and moved on.
“Foehammer to ground team: You’ve got two Covenant dropships comingfast!”
The Master Chief stood at the edge of a massive chasm and monitored hisallies’ radio chatter. In the distance, he could barely see the twinklingof the luminescent panels that Halo’s creators had left behind toilluminate these subterranean warrens. Below him, the abyss yawned andappeared to be bottomless.
He recognized the next voice as belonging to Gunnery Sergeant Waller, theHelljumper in charge of their LZ.“Okay, people,” Waller drawled,“we gotcompany coming. Engage enemy forces on sight.”
“It’ll be easier to hold them off frominside the structure,” Cortana putin. “Can you get inside?”
“Negative!”Waller replied.“They’re closing in too fast. We’ll keep ’embusy as long as we can.”
“Give ’em hell, Marine,”the AI said grimly, and broke the connection.
“We’llall be in a tight spot if we don’t get out of here before enemyreinforcements arrive.”
“Roger that,” the Master Chief replied, as he pushed his way down a ramp,through a pair of hatches, and into the gloomy spaces beyond. He marchedover some transparent decking, crossed a footbridge and killed a pair ofGrunts he found there, followed another ramp to the floor below, tossed agrenade into a group of enemies that patrolled the area, and hurried througha likely looking opening. There was a roar of outrage as an Elite fired upat him from the platform below while some Grunts barked and gibbered.
The Spartan used a grenade to grease the entire group and hurried down tosee what they had been guarding. He recognized the Map Room the moment hesaw the opening, and had just stepped inside when another Elite opened up onhim from across the way. A sustained burst from his assault weapon wassufficient to drop the alien’s personal shields, and he put the alien downwith a stroke of his rifle butt.
“There!” Cortana said. “That holo panel should activate the map.”
“Any idea how to activate it?”
“No,” she replied, her tone arch. “You’rethe one with the magic touch.”
The Master Chief took a couple of steps forward and reached a hand towardthe display. He seemed to know instinctively how to activate the panel—italmost seemed hard-wired, like his fight-or-flight response.
He banished the random thought and returned to the mission. He slid hisarmored hand across the panel and a glowing wire-frame map appeared andseemed to float in front of him. “Analyzing,” the AI said. “Halo’sControl Center is”—she highlighted a section of the map in his HUD—“there.Interesting. It looks like some sort of shrine.”
She opened a channel.“Cortana to Captain Keyes.”
There was silence for a moment, followed by Foehammer’s voice.“The Captainhas dropped out of contact, Cortana. His ship may be out of range or may behaving equipment problems.”
“Keep trying,”the AI replied.“Let me know when you reestablish contact.
And then tell him that the Master Chief and I have determined the locationof the Control Center.”
Captain Jacob Keyes tried to ignore the incessantslam-bam beat of theSergeant’s colonial flip music that pounded over the intercom as the pilotlowered the dropship into a swamp. “Everything looks clear—I’m bringingher down.”
The Pelican’s jets whipped the water into a frenzy as the ramp was loweredand the cargo compartment was flooded with thick, humid air. It carried thenauseating stench of rotting vegetation, the foul odor of swamp gas, and theslight metallic tang typical of Halo itself. Somebody said,“Pe-euu,” butwas drowned out by Staff Sergeant Avery Johnson, who shouted, “Go! Go!
Go!” and the Marines jumped down into the calf-deep water.
Somebody said, “Damn!” as water splashed up their legs. Johnson said,“Stow it, Marine,” as Keyes cleared the ramp. Freed from its burden, thedropship fired its jets, powered its way up out of the glutinous air, andstarted to climb.
Keyes consulted a small hand comp. “The structure we’re looking for issupposed to be overthere .”
Johnson eyed the pointing finger and nodded. “Okay, you slackers, you heardthe Captain. Bisenti, take point.”
Private Wallace A. Jenkins was toward the rear, which was almost as bad aspoint, but not quite. The ebony water topped his boots, seeped down throughhis socks, and found his feet. It wasn’t all that cold—for which theMarine was thankful. Like the rest of the team, he knew that the ostensiblepurpose of the mission was to locate and recover a cache of Covenantweapons. Still an important thing to do, even in the wake of LieutenantMcKay’s efforts to raid thePillar of Autumn , and the fact that Alpha Basehad been strengthened as a result.
It was a crap detail, however—especially slogging through this dark, mist-clogged swamp.
Something loomed ahead. Bisenti hoped it was what the Old Man had draggedtheir sorry butts into this swamp for. He hissed the word back to thetopkick. “I see a building, Sarge.”
There was the sound of water splashing as Johnson came forward. “Stayclose, Jenkins. Mendoza, move it up! Wait here for the Captain and hissquad. And get your asses inside.”
Jenkins saw Keyes materialize out of the mist. “Sir!”
Johnson saw Keyes, nodded, and said, “Okay, let’s move!”
Keyes followed the Marines inside. The entire situation was different fromwhat he had expected. Unlike the Covenant, who killed nearly all of thehumans they got their hands on, the Marines continued to take prisoners. Onesuch individual, a rather disillusioned Elite named ’Qualomee, had beeninterrogated for hours. He swore that he’d been part of a group of Covenantsoldiers who had delivered a shipment of arms to the forces guarding thisvery structure.
But there was no sign of a Covenant security team, or the weapons ’Qualomeeclaimed to have delivered, which meant that he had probably been lying.
Something the Captain planned to discuss with the alien upon his return toAlpha Base. In the meantime, Keyes planned to push deeper into the complexand see what he could find. The second squad, under Corporal Lovik, was leftto cover their line of retreat, while the rest of the team continued topress ahead.
Ten minutes had passed when a Marine said, “Whoa! Look at that. Somethingscrambled his insides.”
Johnson looked down at a dead Elite. Other Covenant bodies lay sprawledaround the area as well. Alien blood slicked the walls and floor. Keyesapproached from behind. “What do we have, Sergeant?”
“Looks like a Covenant patrol,” the noncom answered. “Badass Special Opstypes—the ones in the black armor. All KIA.”
Keyes eyed the body and looked up at Bisenti. “Real pretty. Friend ofyours?”
The Marine shook his head. “No, we just met.”
It took another five minutes to reach a large metal door. It was locked andno amount of fooling around with the keypad seemed likely to open it.
“Right,” Keyes said, as he examined the obstacle. “Let’s get this dooropen.”
“I’ll try, sir,” the Tech Specialist, Kappus, replied, “but it lookslike those Covenant worked pretty hard to lock it down.”
“Just do it, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kappus pulled the spoofer out of his pack, attached the box to the door, andpressed a series of keys. Outside of the gentle beeping noises that theblack box made as it tapped into the door’s electronics and ran throughthousands of combinations per second, there was nothing but silence.
The Marines shifted nervously, unwilling to relax. Sweat dripped downKappus’ forehead.
They held position for another few minutes, until Kappus nodded withsatisfaction and opened the door. The Marines drifted inside. Theelectronics expert raised a hand. “Sarge! Listen!”
All of the Marines listened. They heard a soft, liquid, sort of slitherysound. It seemed to come from every direction at once.
Jenkins felt jumpy but it was Mendoza who actually put it into words.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this . . .”
“You’ve always got a bad feeling,” the Sergeant put in, and was about tochew Mendoza out when a message came in over the team freq. It sounded likethe second squad was in some sort of trouble, but Corporal Lovik wasn’tvery coherent, so it was difficult to be sure.
In fact, it almost sounded like screaming.
Keyes responded. “Corporal? Do you copy? Over.”
There was no reply.
Johnson turned to Mendoza. “Get your ass back up to second squad’sposition and find out what the hell is going on.”
“But Sarge—”
“I don’t have time for your lip, soldier! I gave you an order.”
“Whatis that?” Jenkins asked nervously, his eyes darting from one shadowto the next.
“Where’s that coming from, Mendoza?” Sergeant Johnson demanded, thesecond squad momentarily forgotten.
“There!” Mendoza proclaimed, pointing to a clutch of shadows as theMarines heard the muffled sound of metal striking metal.
There was a cry of pain as something landed on Private Riley’s back, drovea needlelike penetrator through his skin, and aimed it down toward hisspine. He dropped his weapon, tried to grab the thing that rode hisshoulders, and thrashed back and forth.
“Hold still! Hold still!” Kappus yelled, grabbing onto one of the bulbouscreatures and trying to pull it off his friend.
Avery Johnson had been in the Corps for most of his adult life, and hadlogged more time humping across the surface of alien planets than any of theother men in the room combined. Along the way, he’d seen a lot of strangestuff—but nothing like what skittered across the metal floor and attacheditself to one of his men.
He saw a dozen white blobs, each maybe half a meter in diameter, andequipped with a cluster of writhing tentacles. They skittered and bobbed ina loose formation, then sprang in his direction. The tentacles propelledthem several meters in a single leap. He fired a short, almost panickedburst. “Let ’em have it!”
Keyes, pistol in hand, fired at one of the creatures. It popped like aballoon, with surprising force. The tiny explosion caused three more toburst into feathery shards, but it seemed as if dozens more took theirplace.
Keyes realized that Private Kappus had been correct. The Covenanthad lockedthe door for a reason, and this was it. But maybe, just maybe, they couldpull back and close the blobs inside again. “Sergeant, we’re surrounded.”
But Johnson’s attention was elsewhere. “God damn it, Jenkins,fire yourweapon !”
Jenkins, his face tight with fear, clutched his assault rifle with white-knuckled hands. It seemed like the little things were boiling from thin air.
“There’s too many!”
The Sarge started to bellow a reply, but it was as if a floodgate had openedsomewhere, as a new wave of the obscene, podlike creatures rolled out of thedarkness to overwhelm the humans. Marines fired in every direction. Manylost their balance as two, three, or even four of the aliens managed to geta grip on them and pull them down.
Jenkins began to back away as fear overwhelmed him.
Keyes threw up his hands with the intention of protecting his face andaccidentally caught one of the monsters. He squeezed and felt the creatureexplode. The little bastards were fragile—but there were so damned many ofthem.Another attacker latched onto his shoulder. The Captain screamed as arazor-sharp tentacle plunged through both his uniform and his skin, wriggledunder the surface of his skin, and tapped his spinal cord. There was anexplosion of pain so intense that he blacked out, only to be brought back toconsciousness by chemicals the thing had injected into his bloodstream.
He tried to yell for help, but couldn’t make a sound. His heart raced ashis extremities grew numb, one by one. His lungs felt heavy.
As Keyes began to lose touch with the rest of his body, something foulentered it, pushing his consciousness down and back even as it claimed mostof his cerebral cortex, polluting his brain with a hunger so base that itwould have made him vomit, had he any possession of his own body.
This hunger was more than a desire for food, for sex, or for power. Thishunger was a vacuum, an endless vortex that consumed every impulse, everythought, every measure of who and what he was.
He tried to scream, but it wouldn’t let him.
The sight of Captain Keyes struggling with this new adversary had frozenPrivate Jenkins in place. When the Captain’s struggles ceased, however, hesnapped into motion. He turned to flee, and felt one of the little beastsslam into his back. Pain knifed into him as the creature inserted itstendrils into his body, then subsided.
His vision clouded, then cleared. He had some sensation that time hadpassed, but he had no way to tell how long he’d been out. Private Jenkins,Wallace A., found himself in a strange half-world.
Due to some fluke, some random toss of the galactic dice, the mind thatinvadedhis body had been severely weakened during the long period ofhibernation, and while strong enough to take over and begin the worknecessary to create a combat form, it lacked the force and clarity requiredto completely dominate its host the way it was supposed to.
Jenkins, helpless to do anything about it, was fully aware of the invadingintelligence as it seized control of his musculature, jerked at his limbslike a child experimenting with a new toy, and marched him around in circleseven as his friends, who no longer had any consciousness at all, werecompletely destroyed. He screamed, and the air left his lungs, but no oneturned to look.