by Eric Nylund
The yellow light from the sodium vapor lamps washed everything topside in an eerie glow. There were Grunts positioned on the street corners, and the shadow of a Banshee flier circling overhead.
The electric cars parked on the street had been overturned, and the waste receptacles had been knocked over or set on fire. Every street-level window was broken. The Master Chief saw no human civilians, alive or otherwise.
Blue Team moved up and over a block. The Master Chief checked topside again.
There was more activity here: a pack of black-armored Grunts meandered down the streets. Two vulture-headed Jackals sat on the corner, squabbling over a hunk of meat.
Something else caught his attention, though. There were other aliens on the sidewalk—or rather,above the sidewalk. They were roughly man-size creatures—unlike any he had ever encountered. The creatures were vaguely sluglike, with pale, purple-pink skin. Unlike other Covenant forces, they were not bipeds. Instead they had several tentacular appendages sprouting from their thick trunks.
They floated a half meter above the ground, as if the odd, pink bladders on their backs kept them aloft. One alien used a slender tentacle to open the hood of a car. It began to disassemble the car’s electric engine, moving with startling speed.
Within twenty seconds all the parts had been neatly arranged in rows on the pavement. The creature paused, then reassembled the parts with blinding quickness, disassembled and rebuilt it several times into different arrangements. Finally, the creature simply reassembled the car and floated on its way.
The Master Chief made sure his mission recorder had gotten that. This was a Covenant race never documented before.
He rotated the fiber-optic cable to point down the opposite end of the street. There was more activity another block away.
He retracted the probe and moved Blue Team a block farther south. He signaled the team to hold position, then climbed up a short series of metal handholds until he was just below a manhole cover.
He cautiously sent the probe topside again, up through the manhole-cover vent.
There was a Jackal’s hoof directly adjacent to the probe, blocking half of his field of vision. He turned the probe with excruciating slowness, and saw fifty more Jackals milling back and forth. They were concentrated around the building across the street. The building resembled pictures that Déjà had shown him years ago—it looked like an Athenian temple, with white marble steps and Ionic columns. At the top of the steps were a pair of stationary guns. More bad news.
He pulled the probe back and consulted the map. The building was marked as the Côte d’Azur Museum of Natural History.
The Covenant had serious firepower here—the stationary guns had commanding fields of fire, making a frontal assault suicidal.Why would they protect a human structure? he wondered. Was it their headquarters?
The Master Chief signaled for Blue-Two. He pointed to the accessway that led under the building. He held up two fingers, pointed toward her eyes, and then down the passage, and then slowly balled his hand into a fist.
Kelly proceeded very slowly down that passage to scout it out.
The Master Chief checked the time. Red and Green Teams were due to report. He had James attach the ground-return transceiver to the pipes overhead.
“Green Team, come in.”
“Roger: Green Team Leader here, sir,”Linda whispered over the channel.“We’ve scouted the residential section.” There was a pause.“No survivors . . . just like Draco Three. We’re too late.”
He understood. They’d seen it before. The Covenant didn’t take prisoners. On Draco III, they had watched via satellite linkup as human survivors were herded together and ripped apart by ravenous Grunts and Jackals. By the time the Spartans had gotten there, there was no one left to rescue.
But the victims had been avenged.
“Green Team: stand by and prepare to fall back to the RV and secure the area,” he said.
“Standing by,”Linda said.
He switched to the Red Team COM channel: “Red Team, report.”
Joshua’s voice crackled over the link:“Red Leader, sir. We’ve got something for ONI. We’vespotted some new type of Covenant race. Little guys that float. They seem to be some sort of explorer or scientist type. They take things apart, then move on, like they’re looking for something. They do not, repeat not, appear hostile. Advise that you do not engage. They raise a pretty loud alarm, Blue Lead.”
“You in trouble?” “Dodged trouble, sir,”he said.“But there is one snag.” “Snag.” The word was charged with meaning for the Spartans. Getting caught in an ambush or a
minefield, a teammate wounded, or aerial bombardments—those were all things they had trained for. Snags were things they didn’t know how to handle. Complications that no one had planned for. “Go ahead,” the Master Chief whispered.
“We have survivors. Twenty civilians hid in a cargo ship here. There are several wounded.”
The Master Chief mulled this over. It wasn’t his choice to weigh the relative worth of a handful of civilian lives versus the possibility of taking out ten thousand Covenant troops with their nuke. His orders were specific on this point. They could not set up the nuke if there was civilian population at risk.
“New mission objective, Red Team Leader,” the Master Chief said. “Get those civilians to the recovery point and evac them back to fleet.” He switched COM channels again, broadcasting to all the teams. “Green Team Leader, you still online?”
A pause, then Linda spoke:“Roger.”
“Move to the docks and coordinate with Red Team—they have survivors we need to evac. Green Team leader has strategic control of this mission.” “Understood,”she said.“We’re on our way.” “Affirmative, sir,”Joshua said.“We’ll get it done.” “Blue Team out.” The Master Chief disconnected. It was going to be rough for Green and Red Teams. Those civilians would slow them down—and if they
had to protect them from Covenant patrols, they’d all get noticed.
Blue-Two returned. She opened the COM link and reported in. “There’s access to the building—a ladder and a steel plate welded shut. We can burn through it.” The Master Chief opened up the team COM channel. “We’re going to assume that Red and Green
Teams will remove the civilians from Côte d’Azur. We will proceed as planned.”
He paused, then turned to Blue-Two. “Break out the nuke and arm it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
2120 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) / UNSCIroquois , military staging area in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV
“Ship’s status?” Captain Keyes said as he strode onto the bridge, buttoning his collar. He noticed that the repair stationCradle still obscured their port camera. “And why aren’t we clear of that station yet?”
“Sir, all hands are at battle stations,” Lieutenant Dominique replied. “General quarters sounded. Tac data uploaded to your station.”
A tactical overview of theIroquois , neighboring vessels, andCradle popped onto Keyes’ personal display screen. “As you can see,” Lieutenant Dominique continued, “wedid clear the station, but they are moving on the same outbound vector we are. Admiral Stanforth wants them with the fleet.”
Captain Keyes took his place in his command chair—“the hot seat,” as it was more colloquially known— and reviewed the data. He nodded with satisfaction. “Looks like the Admiral has something up his sleeve.” He turned to Lieutenant Hall. “Engine status, Lieutenant?”
“Engines hot at fifty percent,” she reported. She straightened to her full height, nearly six feet, and looked Captain Keyes in the eye with something edging near defensiveness. “Sir, the engines took a real beating in our last engagement. The repairs we’ve made are . . . well, the best we could do without a complete refit.”
“Understood, Lieutenant,” Keyes replied calmly. In truth, Keyes was concerned about the engines, too— but it would do no good to make Hall more uneasy than necessary. The last thing he needed now was
to undermine her confidence.
“Gunnery officer?” Captain Keyes turned to Lieutenant Hikowa. The petite woman bore more resemblance to a porcelain doll than to a combat officer, but Keyes knew her delicate appearance was only skin deep. She had ice water for blood and nerves of steel.
“MAC guns charging,” Lieutenant Hikowa reported. “Sixty-five percent and climbing at two percent per minute.”
Everything on theIroquois had slowed down to a crawl. Engine, weapons—even the unwieldyCradle kept pace with them.
Captain Keyes sat up straighter. There was no time to spend on self-recriminations. He would have to do the best he could with what he had. There simply was no other alternative.
The lift doors popped open and a young man stepped on deck. He was tall and thin. His dark hair— longer than regulations permitted—had been slicked back. He was disarmingly handsome; Keyes noticed the female bridge crew pause to look the newcomer over before returning to their tasks. “Ensign Lovell reporting for duty, Captain.” He snapped a sharp salute.
“Welcome aboard, Ensign Lovell.” Captain Keyes returned his salute, surprised that the unkempt officer could demonstrate such crisp adherence to military protocol. “Man the navigation console, please.”
The bridge officers scrutinized the Ensign. It was highly unusual for such a low-ranking officer to pilot a capital ship. “Sir?” Lovell wrinkled his forehead, confused. “Has there been some mistake, sir?”
“Youare Ensign Michael Lovell? Recently posted on theArchimedes Remote Sensor Outpost?”
“Yes, sir. They pulled me off that duty so quick that I—”
“Then man your station, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir!”
Ensign Lovell sat at the navigation console, took a few seconds to acquaint himself with the controls— then reconfigured them more to his liking.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Keyes’ mouth. He knew that Lovell had more combat experience than any Lieutenant on the bridge, and was pleased that the Ensign adapted so quickly to unfamiliar surroundings.
“Show me the fleet’s position and the relative location of the enemy, Ensign,” Keyes ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Lovell replied. His hands danced across the controls. A moment later, a system map snapped into place on the main screen. Dozens of small triangular tactical markers showed Admiral Stanforth’s fleet massing between Sigma Octanus IV and its moon. It was a sound opening position. Fighting in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV would have trapped them in the gravity well—like fighting with your back to a wall.
Keyes studied the display—and frowned. The Admiral had moved the fleet into a tightly packed grid formation. When the Covenant fired their plasma weapons at them, there would be no maneuvering room.
The Covenant was moving in-system quickly. Captain Keyes counted twenty radar signatures. He didn’t
like the odds. “Receiving orders,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “Admiral Stanforth wants theIroquois at this location ASAP.”
On the map, a blue triangle pulsed on the corner of the grid formation. “Ensign Lovell, get us there at best speed.” “Aye, sir,” he replied. Captain Keyes fought down a wave of embarrassment; theCradle stardock started to pull ahead of
theIroquois . It took up a position directly over the Admiral’s phalanx formation. The refit station
rotated, presenting its edge to the incoming Covenant fleet to show them the smallest target area. “Rotating and reversing burn,” Ensign Lovell said. TheIroquois spun about and slowed. “Thrusters to station keeping. We’re locked in position, sir.”
“Very good, Ensign. Lieutenant Hikowa, divert as much power as you need to get those MAC guns charged.”
“Aye, sir,” Hikowa replied. “Capacitors charging at maximum rate.” “Captain,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “We’re receiving an encrypted firing solution and countdown timers from theLeviathan ’s AI.”
“Transfer that vector to Lieutenant Hikowa and show me on screen.”
A line appeared on the tactical map, connecting theIroquois to one of the incoming Covenant frigates. The firing timer appeared in the corner: twenty-three seconds. “Now show me the entire fleet’s firing solutions, Lieutenant Dominique.” A web of trajectories crossed the map with tiny countdown times next to each. Admiral Stanforth had
the fleet exchanging fire with the Covenant like a line of Redcoats and colonial militia in the
Revolutionary War—tactics that could best be described as bloody . . . or suicidal. What the hell was the Admiral thinking? Keyes studied the displays, trying to divine a method to his commanding officer’s madness . . . then he understood. Risky, but—if it worked—brilliant.
The fleet’s firing countdowns were roughly timed so that the shots would be staggered into two, maybe three, massive salvos. The first salvo would—hopefully—knock out the Covenant ships’ shields. The final salvo was to be the knockout punch.
But it could only work once. After that, the UNSC fleet would be destroyed when the remaining Covenant ships returned fire. TheIroquois and the other ships were stationary targets. He appreciated that the Admiral couldn’t get too far from Sigma Octanus IV, but with zero momentum—and no room to maneuver—there’d be no way to avoid those plasma bolts.
“Sound decompression alarms in all nonessential sections, Lieutenant Hall, and then empty them.” “Aye, sir,” she said, and bit her lower lip. “Guns: status on the MACs?” Keyes’ eyes were glued to the firing countdown. Twenty seconds . . .
fifteen . . . ten . . . “Sir, MAC weapon systems are hot!” Hikowa announced. “Removing safeties now.” The Covenant ships started to rotate slowly in space—although their momentum continued to carry them
on their inbound trajectory toward the UNSC phalanx. Motes of red light collected along the alien ships’ lateral lines.
Five seconds. “Transferring firing control to the computer,” Lieutenant Hikowa said. She punched a series of firing codes into the computer, then locked down the controls. TheIroquois recoiled and spat twin bolts of thunder toward the enemy.
The starboard view screen showed UNSC destroyers and frigates launching their opening salvo. The Covenant fleet fired as well; angry red lances of energy raced though space towards them. “Time until that plasma impacts?” Captain Keyes asked Ensign Lovell. “Twenty-two seconds, sir.” The vacuum between the two opposing forces filled with a hundred lines of fire and smoldering metal
that seemed to tear through the fabric of space. Their trajectories closed on one another, then crossed, and the bolts of fire grew larger on the main screen.
Lieutenant Dominique said, “Receiving a second set of firing solutions and times. Admiral Stanforth on the priority channel, sir.”
“Put him on, holotank two,” Keyes ordered.
Near the main view screen, a small holographic tank—normally reserved for the ship’s AI—winked into operation. Admiral Stanforth’s ghostly image appeared. “All ships: hold your positions. Divert all engine power to recharge your guns. We’ve got something special cooked up.” His eyes narrowed. “Do not—I repeat, do not—underany circumstance break position or fire before you are ordered to do so. Stanforth out.”
The holographic projection of the Admiral snapped out of existence.
“Orders, sir?” Ensign Lovell turned in his seat.
“You heard the Admiral, Ensign. Thrusters to station keeping. Lieutenant Hikowa: get those guns recharged on the double.”
“Aye, sir.”
Keyes nodded as Hikowa turned back to her task. “Three seconds until first salvo impact,” she announced.
Keyes turned back to the tac display, concentrating on the MAC rounds that crawled across the screen. The fleet’s MAC rounds hammered into the Covenant lines. Shields flickered silver-blue and overloaded as the super-dense projectiles rammed into the formation; several ships were spun out of position by the impact.
“Guns?” he called out. “Enemy status?”
“Multiple hits on Covenant fl
eet, sir,” Hikowa replied. “Salvo two impact . . . now.”
A handful of the shots were clean misses. Keyes winced; each one of the off-trajectory MAC rounds meant one more enemy ship would survive to return fire.
The vast majority, however, slammed into the unshielded alien vessels. The lead Covenant destroyer took a direct hit from a heavy round, which sent the alien ship into a lurching port spin.
Keyes saw the destroyer’s engines flare as her pilot struggled to regain control—just as a second MAC round struck on the ship’s opposite side. For an instant, the Covenant vessel shuddered, held position, then flexed as the hull stresses became too great. The destroyer disintegrated and scattered debris in a wide arc.
A second Covenant ship—a frigate—shuddered under the impact of multiple MAC rounds. It listed to starboard and rammed the next frigate in the enemy formation. Sparks and small explosions flared from the ships as a gray-white plume of vented atmosphere exploded into space. The ships’ running lights flickered, then dimmed as the pair of dead spacecraft—locked in a deadly embrace—tumbled into the heart of the Covenant line.
A moment later, the wrecked ships hit a third Covenant frigate, and they exploded, sending tendrils of plasma through space. A dozen of their ships vented atmosphere and fires flickered within their hulls.
The fore view screen, however, was now filled with incoming weapons fire.
“Fleet commander on priority channel,” Dominique announced. “Audio only.”
“Patch it through, Lieutenant,” Keyes ordered.
A hiss of static crackled through the communications-system speakers. A moment later, Admiral Stanforth’s voice calmly broke through the noise. “Lead to all ships: hold your positions,” the Admiral said. “Make ready to fire. Transfer timers to your computers . . . and hang on to your hats.”
A shadow crossed the overhead camera. On the view screen, Captain Keyes watched as theCradle repair station, the plate nearly a kilometer on edge, rotated and started to slide in front of their phalanx formation.
“Christ,” Ensign Lovell whispered, “they’re going to take the hits for us.”
“Dominique, hit the scopes. Are there any lifepods outbound fromCradle ?” Keyes asked. He already knew the answer.
