Halo. Flood

by William C. Dietz

  He had just burned a pair of Jackals to the ground when Cortana announced that a Covenant dropship was inbound, and the Master Chief was forced to shift his fire to the alien aircraft and the troops that spilled out onto the ground.

  The human walked the blue Shade fire across the aliens, cutting them down, and pounding what remained into mush. He was still at it when a Marine yelled, “Look at that! There’s more of them!” and a dozen figures floated down through the gravity lift. A pair of the newcomers were huge and wore steel-blue armor as well as handheld plate-armor shields.

  The Chief had faced such creatures before, not long before Reach fell. Covenant Hunters were tough, dangerous foes—practically walking tanks. They were slow and appeared clumsy, but the cannons mounted on their arms were equivalent to the heavy weapons a Banshee carried, and they could leap into motion with startling suddenness. Their metal shields could withstand a tremendous amount of punishment. Worse, they would never stop until the enemy lay dead at their feet . . . or they were dead themselves.

  The Marines opened fire, grenades exploded, and the pair of Hunters roared defiance. One of them lifted his right arm and fired his weapon, a fuel rod gun. One of the soldiers screamed and fell, his flesh melting. The Marine’s rocket fired into the air, slid into the grav lift beam, and detonated harmlessly.

  The Hunters lumbered from the grav lift and strode up the edge of the pit. Behind them, a swarm of Jackals and Elites formed a rough phalanx and peppered the human positions with plasma fire.

  Sergeant Parker yelled, “Hit ’em, Marines!” and they poured fire onto the massive alien juggernauts. Bullets pinged from their armor and whined through the rocks.

  The Spartan swiveled around, and heard a warning tone as a Hunter’s weapon discharged. Burning energy smashed into him. The Shade shook under the force of the incoming fire as the Master Chief clenched his jaw and forced himself to bring the targeting reticle down onto the target. His shield bled energy and began to shriek a shrill alarm.

  The instant the targeting display pulsed red, he mashed down the firing studs and unleashed a flood of incandescent blue light. The Hunter didn’t have time to bring its shield fully into play, and plasma blasts burned through multiple layers of armor, and exited through its back.

  The Spartan heard a cry of what sounded like anguish as the second alien saw his bond brother fall. The Hunter spun and fired his fuel rod gun at the Master Chief’s captured emplacement. The Shade took a direct hit, flipped over onto its side, and threw him to the ground.

  The ground vibrated as the enraged alien charged up the slope, right for the downed Spartan. The Chief rolled to his right and came up in a low crouch. The alien was close now, within five meters. A row of razor-sharp spines sprang up along the Hunter’s back. With his shields depleted, the Chief knew that this Hunter’s sheer strength was a very real threat.

  He dropped to one knee and unslung his assault rifle. Bullets bounced harmlessly from the alien’s armor. At the last second, he dodged left and slid down the slope. The Hunter didn’t anticipate the move, and his enormous shield passed over the Spartan’s head, missing him by mere centimeters.

  The Chief rolled onto his belly—and saw his opportunity. A patch of orange, leathery skin was visible along the Hunter’s curved back. He emptied the MA5B’s magazine into the unprotected target, and thick orange blood gouted from a cluster of bullet wounds. The Hunter gave a low, keening wail, then collapsed in a puddle of his own gore.

  He rose to one knee, fed a fresh magazine into the assault rifle, and scanned the area for enemies. “All clear,” he called out.

  The remaining Marines called in all clears as well. That opened the way to the lift and Cortana was quick to seize on the opportunity. She activated the armor’s communication system. “Cortana to Echo 419. We made it to the gravity lift—and are ready for reinforcements.”

  “Copy that, Cortana . . . Echo 419 inbound. Clear the drop zone.”

  “What’s the matter?” Sergeant Parker demanded of his troops, several of whom were looking longingly at the fast-approaching Pelican’s running strobes. “Never seen a UNSC dropship before? Keep your eyes on the rocks, damn it—that’s where the bastards will come from.”

  The Spartan waited for Echo 419 to unload the fresh Marines, waved them forward, and joined the surviving soldiers on the lift pad. “Looks like we made it,” a private said, just before an invisible hand reached down to pluck him off the surface.

  Sergeant Parker looked up toward the belly of the ship, and said, “Aren’t we the lucky ones?” then rose as if suspended from a rope.

  “Once we’re in the ship I can home in on the Captain’s Command Neural Interface,” Cortana said. “The CNI will lead us to him. He’ll probably be in or near the ship’s brig.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the Chief answered dryly, and felt the beam pull him upward. Someone else yelled, “Yeehaw!” and vanished into the belly of the ship. The Covenant didn’t realize it yet—but the Marines had landed.

  None of the humans understood, much less had the ability to predict, the ringworld’s weather. So, when big drops of blood-warm rain fell on the mesa, it came as a complete surprise. The Marines grumbled as the water streamed off their faces, soaked their uniforms, and started to pool on the surface of the landing pad.

  McKay saw things differently, however. She liked the wet stuff, not just because it felt good on her skin, but because bad weather would offer the insertion team that much more cover.

  “Listen up, people!” Sergeant Lister bellowed. “You know the drill. Let’s shake, rattle, and roll.”

  There weren’t many lights, just enough so that people could move around without running into one another, but the fact that Silva had been on such missions himself meant that he could visualize what his eyes couldn’t see.

  The troopers carried a full combat load, which meant that their packs were festooned with weapons, ammo, grenades, flares, radios, and med packs—all of which would make noise unless properly secured. Noise would bring a world of trouble down on their heads during an op. That’s why Lister passed through the ranks and forced each Marine to jump up and down. Anything that clicked, squeaked, or rattled was identified and restowed, taped, or otherwise fastened into place.

  Once all the troops had passed inspection, the Helljumpers would board the waiting dropships for a short flight to the point where the Pillar of Autumn had crashed. The Covenant had placed guards in and around the fallen cruiser, so McKay and her Marines would have to retake the ship long enough to fill the extensive shopping list that Silva had given her.

  According to Wellsley, Napoleon I once said, “What makes the general’s task so difficult is the necessity of feeding so many men and animals.”

  Silva didn’t have any animals to feed, but he did have a flock of Pelicans, and the essence of the problem was the same. With the exception of the ODST troopers, who carried extra supplies in their HEVs, the rest of the Navy and Marine personnel had bailed out of the Autumn with very little in the way of supplies. Obtaining more of everything, and doing it before the Covenant launched an all-out attack on Alpha Base, would be the key to survival. Later, assuming there was a later, the infantry officer would have to find a way to get his people the hell off the ringworld.

  Silva’s thoughts were interrupted as Echo 419 raced in over the mesa, flared nose up, and settled onto what had been designated as Pad 3.

  The assault on the Truth and Reconciliation had gone well so far, which meant that Second Lieutenant Dalu, who had been assigned to follow along behind the rescue team and scoop up everything he could, was having a good evening. Each time Echo 419 dropped a load of troops she brought enemy arms and equipment back in. Plasma rifles, plasma pistols, Needlers, power packs, hand tools, com equipment, and even food packs. Dalu loved them all.

  Silva grinned as the Lieutenant waved a team of Naval techs in under the Pelican’s belly to take delivery of the Shade he and his team had lifted right out from unde
r the Covenant’s collective noses. That was the third gun acquired since the beginning of the operation, and would soon take its place within the butte’s steadily growing air defense system.

  Sergeant Lister shouted, “Ten-shun!”, did a smart about-face, and saluted Lieutenant McKay. She returned the salute, and said, “At ease.”

  Silva walked out into the rain and felt it pelt his face. He turned to look at the ranks of black, brown, and white faces. All he saw were Marines.

  “Most, if not all of you, are familiar with my office aboard the Pillar of Autumn. In the rush to leave it seems that I left a full bottle of Scotch in the lower left-hand drawer of my desk. If one or more of you would be so kind as to retrieve that bottle, not only would I be extremely grateful, I would show my gratitude by sharing it with the person or persons who manage to bring it in.”

  There was a roar of approval. Lister shouted them down. “Silence! Corporal, take that man’s name.” The Corporal to whom the order was directed had no idea which name he was supposed to take down, but knew it didn’t matter.

  Silva knew the Helljumpers had been briefed, and understood the true purpose of the mission, so he brought his remarks to a close.

  “Good luck out there . . . I’ll see you in a couple of days.” Except that he wouldn’t see them, not all of them. Good commanding officers had to love their men—and still be willing to order their deaths if needed. It was the aspect of command he hated the most.

  The formation was dismissed. The Marines jogged up into the back of the waiting Pelicans, and the dropships soon disappeared into the blackness of the night.

  Silva remained on the pad until the sound of the engines could no longer be heard. Then, conscious of the fact that every war must be won on the equivalent of paper before it can be won on the ground, he turned back toward the low-lying structure that housed his command post. The night was still young—and there was plenty of work left to do.

  The gravity lift deposited the rescue team three feet above the deck. They hung suspended for a moment, then fell. Parker gave a series of hand signals, and the Marines crept forward into the lift bay.

  The Covenant equivalent of gear crates—tapered rectangular boxes made from the shimmering, striated purple metal the aliens favored—were stacked around the high compartment. A pair of Covenant tanks, “Wraiths,” were lined along the right side of the bay.

  The Master Chief moved forward toward one of the high metal doors that were spaced along the perimeter of the compartment.

  Parker gave the all clear signal and the Marines relaxed a bit. “There’s no Covenant here,” one of them whispered, “so where the hell are they?”

  The door was proximity activated, and as the Spartan neared the portal, it slid open and revealed a surprised Elite. Without pause, he tackled the alien and slammed its armored head into the burnished deckplates. With luck, he’d finished the Elite quietly enough—

  Another set of doors flashed open on the other side of the bay, and Covenant troops boiled into the compartment.

  A second Marine turned to the Corporal who’d just spoken. “ ‘No Covenant,’ ” he snarled, mocking his fellow trooper. “You just had to open your mouth, didn’t you?”

  Inside the Covenant ship, chaos reigned. The Master Chief charged ahead, and the rescue team fought their way through a maze of interlocking corridors, which eventually emerged into a large shuttle bay. A Covenant dropship passed through a bright blue force field as all hell broke loose. Fire stuttered down from a platform above. A Marine took a flurry of needles in the chest and was torn in half by the ensuing explosion.

  A Grunt dropped from above and landed on a Corporal’s shoulders. The Marine reached up, got a grip on the alien’s methane rig, and jerked the device off. The Grunt started to wheeze, fell to the deck, and flopped around like a fish. Someone shot him.

  Numerous hatches opened into the bay and additional Covenant troops poured in from every direction. Parker stood up and motioned his men forward. “It’s party time!” he bellowed.

  He spun and opened fire, and was soon joined by all the rest. Within a matter of seconds what seemed like a dozen different firefights had broken out. Wounded and dead—humans and Covenant alike—littered the deck.

  The Master Chief was careful to keep his back to a Marine, a pillar, or the nearest bulkhead. His MJOLNIR armor, and the recharging shield it carried, provided the Spartan with an advantage that none of the Marines possessed, so he focused most of his attention on the Elites, leaving the Jackals and Grunts for others to handle.

  Cortana, meanwhile, was hard at work tapping into the ship’s electronic nervous system in an attempt to find the best way out of the trap. “We need a way out of this bay now,” the Master Chief told her, “or there won’t be anyone left to complete the mission.”

  He ducked behind a crate, emptied his magazine into a charging Grunt who wielded a plasma grenade, then paused to reload.

  A Hunter gave a bloodcurdling roar as it charged into the fray. The Spartan turned and saw Sergeant Parker fire at the massive alien. A trio of bullets spat from his assault rifle—the last three rounds in the weapon. He discarded the empty gun and backpedaled in an attempt to buy himself some time. His hand dipped for his sidearm.

  The Hunter sprang forward and the edge of the beast’s massive shield shredded through the Marine’s ballistic armor. He crashed to the deck.

  The Master Chief cursed under his breath, slapped a fresh clip into place, racked a round into the chamber, and took aim on the Hunter. The alien was coming on fast, too fast, and the Spartan knew he wasn’t going to get a kill-shot in time.

  The Hunter stepped past Sergeant Parker’s prone form. The alien roared again as the Spartan sprayed it with gunfire, knowing the gesture was futile, but unwilling to let the enemy at his teammate’s exposed flank.

  Without warning, the Hunter reared up, howled, and crashed to the ground. The Master Chief was puzzled, and briefly checked his weapon. Could he have gotten in a lucky shot?

  He heard a cough, and saw Sergeant Parker struggling to his feet, a smoking M6D pistol in his hand. Blood flowed from the gashes in his side, and he was unsteady on his feet, but he found the strength to spit on the Hunter’s fallen corpse.

  The Chief took a covering position near the wounded sergeant. He gave him a brisk nod. “Not bad for a Marine. Thanks.”

  The sergeant grabbed a fallen assault rifle, slammed a fresh magazine into place, and grinned. “Any time, swabbie.”

  His motion sensor showed more contacts inbound, but they were keeping their distance. Their failed assault on the bay must have left them disorganized. Good, he thought. We need all the time we can get. “Cortana,” he said, “how much longer before you get a door open?”

  “Got it!” Cortana proclaimed exultantly. One of the heavy doors hissed open. “Everyone should move through the door now. I can’t guarantee that it won’t lock when it closes.”

  “Follow me!” he barked, then led the surviving Marines out of the shuttle bay and into the comparative safety of a corridor beyond.

  The next fifteen minutes were like a slow-motion nightmare as the rescuers fought their way through a maze of corridors, up a series of narrow ramps, and onto the launch bay’s upper level. With Cortana’s guidance, they plunged back into the ship’s oppressive passageways.

  As they proceeded through the bowels of the large warship, Cortana finally gave them good news: “The Captain’s signal is strong. He must be close.”

  The Chief frowned. This was taking too long. Every passing second made it that much less likely that any of the rescue party would be able to get off the Truth and Reconciliation alive, let alone with Captain Keyes. The Marines were good fighters, but they were slowing him down.

  He turned to Sergeant Parker and said, “Hold your men here. I’ll be back soon—with the Captain.”

  He started to protest, then nodded. “Just don’t tell Silva,” he said.

  The Master Chief ran from door to
door until one of them opened to reveal a rectangular room lined with cells. It appeared that the translucent force fields served in place of bars. He dashed inside and called the Captain’s name, but received no answer. A quick check confirmed that, with the exception of one dead Marine, the detention center was empty.

  Frustrated, yet reassured by Cortana’s insistence that the CNI signal remained strong, the Spartan exited the room, entered the hall, and literally went door to door, searching for the correct hatch. Once he located it, the Master Chief almost wished he hadn’t.

  The portal slid open, a Grunt yelled something the Master Chief couldn’t understand, and a plasma beam lashed past the human’s helmet.

  The Master Chief opened fire, heard a Marine yell from within one of the cells, “Good to see you, Chief!” and knew he was in the right place.

  A plasma beam appeared out of nowhere, hit the Spartan in the chest, and triggered the armor’s audible alarm. He ducked behind a support column, just in time to see an energy beam slice through the spot he had just vacated. He scanned the room, looking for his assailant.

  Nothing.

  His motion sensor showed faint trace movements, but he couldn’t spot their source.

  His eyes narrowed, and he noticed a slight shimmer in the air, directly in front of him. He fired a sustained burst through the middle of it, and was rewarded with a loud howl. The Elite seemed to materialize out of thin air, made a grab for his own entrails, and managed to catch them before he died.

  He strode to the access controls and, with Cortana’s help, killed the force fields. Captain Keyes stepped out of his cell, paused to scoop a Needler off the floor, and met the Chief’s eyes. “Coming here was reckless,” he said, his voice harsh. The Chief was about to explain his orders when Keyes’ expression warmed, and the Autumn’s CO smiled. “Thanks.”

  The Spartan nodded. “Any time, sir.”