Deployment+00 hours:03 minutes:24 seconds (Major Silva MissionClock) / Command HEV, in combat drop to surface of Halo.

Consistent with standard UNSC insertion protocols, Major Antonio Silva’sHEV accelerated once it was launched so that it was among the first to enterHalo’s atmosphere. There were a number of reasons for this, including thestrongly held belief that officers should lead rather than follow, bewilling to do anything their troops were asked to do, and expose themselvesto the same level of danger.

There were still other reasons, however, beginning with the need to collect,sort, and organize the troops the moment their boots touched ground.

Experience demonstrated that whatever the Helljumpers managed to accomplishduring the first so-called golden hour would have a disproportionate effecton the success or failure of the entire mission. Especially now, as theMarines dropped onto a hostile world without any of the Intel briefings,virtual reality sims, or environment-specific equipment mods they wouldnormally receive prior to such an insertion. To offset this, the command podwas equipped with a lot of gear that the regular “eggs” weren’t,including some high-powered imaging gear, and the Class C military AIrequired to operate it.

This particular intelligence had been programmed with a male persona, thename Wellsley—after the famous Duke of Wellington—and a personality tomatch. Though he was a good deal less capable than a top-level AI likeCortana,all of Wellsley’s capabilities were focused on things military,which made him extremely useful if somewhat narrow-minded.

The HEV shook violently and flipped end for end as the interior temperaturerose to 98 degrees. Sweat poured down Silva’s face.

“So,” Wellsley continued, his voice coming in via the officer’s earplugs, “based on the telemetry available from space, plus my analysis, itappears that the structure tagged as HS2604 will meet your needs.” TheAI’s tone changed slightly as a conversational subroutine kicked in.

“Perhaps you would like to call it ‘Gawilghur,’ after the fortress Iconquered in India?”

“Thanks,” Silva croaked as the pod inverted a second time, “but nothanks. First:you didn’t take the fortress, Wellington did. Second: Thereweren’t any computers in 1803. Third: none of my troops would be able topronounce ‘Gawilghur.’ The designator ‘Alpha Base’ will do just fine.”

The AI issued a passable rendition of a human sigh. “Very well, then. As Iwas saying,‘Alpha Base’ is located at the top ofthis butte.” Thecurvilinear screen located just six inches from the end of the Marine’snose seemed to shiver and the video morphed into a picture of a thick,pillarlike formation topped by a mesa with some variegated flat-roofedstructures located at one end.

That was all Silva got to see before the HEV’s skin started to slough awayrevealing the alloy crash cage that contained the officer and his equipment.

The air turned cold and ripped at his clothes. A moment later, the chuteunfurled and assumed the shape of an airfoil. Silva winced as the poddecelerated with a bone-rattling jerk. His harness bit into his shouldersand chest.

Wellsley sent an electronic signal to the rest of the Helljumpers. Theremains of their HEVs turned in whatever direction was necessary in order toorient themselves on the command pod and follow it down through theatmosphere.

All except for Private Marie Postly, who heard asnap as her main chute toreaway. There was a sickening moment of freefall, then a jolt as the back-upchute deployed. A red light flashed on the instrument panel in front of her.

She started to scream on freq two, until Silva cut her off. He closed hiseyes. It was the death that every Helljumper feared, but none of them talkedabout. Somewhere, down toward Halo’s surface, Postly was about to dig herown grave.

Silva felt his HEV stabilize and took another look at the butte. It was tallenough to provide anyone who owned it with a good view of the surroundingcountryside, plus the sheer cliffs would force attackers to either come byair or fight their way up along narrow paths. As a bonus, the structureslocated on top would provide his Marines with defensible shelter. “It looksgood. I like it.”

“I thought you would,” Wellsley replied smugly. “There is one littleproblem, however.”

“What’s that?” Silva shouted as the last section of the HEV’s skinpeeled away and the slipstream tore at his mask.

“The Covenant owns this particular piece of real estate,” the AI replied,calmly, “and if we want it, we’ll have to take it.”

Deployment+00 hours:02 minutes:51 seconds(SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) / Lifeboat Lima FoxtrotAlpha 43, in emergency descent to surface of Halo.

The Master Chief watched the ring open up in front of him as the pilotguided the lifeboat in past a thick silvery edge, and down “under” theconstruct’s inner surface, before putting the tiny ship into a shallow divecalculated to place it on the strange landscape below. As he looked forward,he saw mountains, hills, and a plain that curved up and eventually out offocus as the ring swooped upward to complete itself somewhere over his head.

The sight was beautiful, strange, and disorienting all at the same time.

Then the sightseeing was over as the ground came up to meet them. The MasterChief couldn’t tell whether the lifeboat took enemy fire, suffered anengine failure, or nicked an obstacle on final approach. It really didn’tmatter; the result was the same.

The pilot had time to yell, “We’re coming in too fast!” A moment later,the hull bounced off something solid, and the Spartan was knocked off hisfeet.

Pain stabbed through his temples as his helmet slammed into the bulkhead onhis way to the deckplates—followed by clinging blackness . . .

“Chief . . . Chief . . . Can you hear me?” Cortana’s voice echoed in hishead.

The Spartan opened his eyes and found himself facing the overhead lightpanels. They flickered and sparked. “Yes, I can hear you,” he replied.

“There’s no need to shout.”

“Oh,really ?” the AI replied in an arch tone. “Maybe you’d like to filea complaint with the Covenant. The crash triggered a lot of radio trafficand it’s my guess that the welcome wagon is on the way.”

The Master Chief struggled to his feet and was just about to answer in kindwhen he saw the bodies. The impact of the crash had ripped the boat open andmangled the unprotected people within. No one else had survived.

There was no time to dwell on that, not if he wanted to stay alive, and keepCortana from falling into enemy hands.

He hurried to gather as much ammo, grenades, and supplies as he could carry.

He had just finished checking the pins on a quartet of frag grenades whenCortana piped up in alarm: “Warning—I’ve detected multiple Covenantdropships on approach. I recommend moving into those hills. If we’re lucky,the Covenant will believe that everyone aboard the lifeboat died in thecrash.”

“Acknowledged.”

Cortana’s plan made sense. The Spartan surveyed the area for threats, thenhurried toward a canyon and the bridge that crossed it. The span was devoidof safety railings, and was constructed from a strange, burnished metal.

Beneath the bridge, a towering waterfall thundered down a massive drop-off.

The rest of the world arched high overhead. Large outcroppings of weather-smoothed gray rock rose ahead, and a scattering of what looked like conifersreminded him of the forests he’d trained in on Reach.

There were differences, however, like the way the ring tapered up from thehorizon, the manner in which its shadow fell upon the land, and the crisp,clean air that came in through his filters. It was beautiful, breathtakinglyso, but potentially dangerous as well.

“Alert—Covenant dropship inbound.” Cortana’s voice was calm butinsistent.

The prophecy soon proved correct as a large shadow floated over the far endof the bridge and the ship’s engines screamed a warning. There was verylittle doubt that the Spartan had been spotted, so he made plans to dealwith it.

He reached the end of the bridge, saw a likely-looking boulder off to hisleft, and hurried to take advantage of it. He skirted the cliff edge,ignoring the long drop. Careful to watch his footing, the Master Chiefcircled the rock and found a crevice where the boulder touched the cliff.

Now, with his back to the wall, he had a chance to defend himself.

He checked his motion tracker, and realized that a pair of Covenant Bansheeswere practically on top of him. The alien aircraft boasted plasma cannon andfuel rod guns. Though not especially fast, they were still dangerous,especially against ground troops.

Combined with air support, the Grunts and Elites that dropped from the forkshaped alien troop carrier were a serious threat.

He steadied his aim and sighted on the nearest Banshee. Careful not to fireearly, the Spartan waited for the Banshee to come within range, thensqueezed the trigger. The first assault ship came straight at him, whichmade it relatively easy to stay on target. Bullet impacts sparked on theBanshee’s hull as his ammo counter dwindled.

The ship shuddered as at least some of the armor-piercing rounds penetratedthe fuselage, pulled up out of its dive, and started to trail smoke.

The Master Chief was in no position to appreciate the results of hisefforts, however, as the second Banshee swooped out of the sun, pounded thearea around him with plasma fire. His shield display dropped, then pulsedred. An alarm whined in his helmet speakers.

The Master Chief returned fire. Without pause, he thumbed the magazinerelease and slammed a fresh clip into the receiver.

He crouched, searched the sky for targets, and spotted Banshee number one inthe nick of time. He braced himself for another assault. The Spartan allowedthe enemy aircraft to approach, took a slight lead, and squeezed the triggeragain. The Covenant ship ran into the stream of bullets, exploded intoflames, and slammed into the cliff wall.

The second ship was still up there, flying in lazy circles, but the Spartanknew better than to stand around and watch it. A half dozen red dots hadappeared on his motion sensors. Each blip represented a potential assailantand most were located to his rear.

The Master Chief waited for his shields to return to their full charge, thenturned, jumped up onto the boulder, and took a quick look around. TheCovenant dropship had deposited a clutch of Grunts on the far side of thecanyon where they were busy examining the wreckage of his lifeboat.

But that wasn’t all. To his left, on his side of the bridge,another groupof Grunts was working its way through the trees, moving in his direction.

They were still a ways off, however—which gave him a few seconds toprepare.

Though not armed with the standard S2 AM Sniper’s Rifle, his weapon ofchoice for this sort of situation, the Spartan was packing the M6D pistolthat Keyes had given him. It was equipped with a 2X scope and, in the handsof an expert, it could reach out and touch someone.

The Master Chief drew the sidearm, turned to the group gathered around thewreckage, and placed the targeting circle over the nearest Grunt. In spiteof the fact that they were of no immediate threat, the aliens on the otherside of the canyon were in an ideal position to flank him, which meant hewould deal with them first. Twelve shots rang out, and seven Grunts fell.

Satisfied that his right flank was reasonably secure, he slammed a freshclip into the pistol and shifted his attention to the enemy troops that wereemerging from the trees. This group of Grunts was closer now,much closer,and they opened fire. The Master Chief chose to target the most distantalien first, thereby ensuring that he would still get a crack at the others,even if they turned and tried to escape.

The pistol shots came in quick succession. The Grunts barked, hooted, andgurgled as the well-aimed bullets hurled their lifeless carcasses down thereverse slope.

When there were no more targets to fire at, the Master Chief took a momentto reload the handgun, clicked on the safety, and returned the weapon to itsholster. He jumped off the boulder and crouched under an outcropping ofrock.

He eyed the Banshee above. It was still there, circling well out of range,waiting to pounce should he emerge from cover. That meant he could sit thereand wait for more ground forces to arrive, or he could abandon his hidingplace and attempt to slip away.

The Spartan had never been one for standing around, so he readied hisassault rifle and slid forward over the rock. Once on open ground it was ashort dash past the scattering of dead Grunts. He crouched beneath the coveroffered by a copse of trees.

He counted to three, then dashed from boulder to boulder. He leapfroggeduphill, still very much aware of the Banshee at his back, but reasonablycertain he’d given the aircraft the slip.

There were no blips on his threat detector, until he topped the rise andpaused to examine the terrain ahead. A telltale red dot popped onto his HUD.

The Master Chief eased his way forward, waiting for the moment of contact.

Then he saw movement as hunched bodies dashed from one scrap of cover to thenext. There were four of them, including a blue-armored Elite. The Elitecharged recklessly forward, firing as he came.

He’d engaged such Elites before—there was some significance to thealiens’ armor colors—and they always fought like aggressive rookies. Athin smile touched the Master Chief’s lips. He ignored the alien’s badly-placed shots, stood, and returned fire. The Elite’s advance stalled, andthe Grunts began to fall back toward a stand of trees. His threat indicatorsounded a warning and a red arrow pointed to the right. The Master Chiefdrew and primed an M9 HE-DP grenade.

He turned just in time to see another Elite—this one in the scarlet armorof a veteran—charge him. The grenade was already in hand, and the distanceto the target was sufficient, so the soldier let the M9 fly. The grenadedetonated with a loudwhump! and tossed the enemy soldier into the air, whilestripping a nearby tree of half its branches.

The rookie was close now, and roared a battle cry. The alien hosed theMaster Chief with plasma fire. His shields dropped precipitously.

The Spartan backed away, fired his assault rifle in short controlled bursts,and finally managed to knock the remaining Elite off his feet.

With their leader down, the Grunts broke ranks and began to scamper away.

The Master Chief cut their retreat short in a hail of bullets.

He eased up on the trigger, felt the silence settle in around him, and knewhe had made a mistake. The veteran had damned near blindsided him. How?

He realized with a start that he was still fighting like part of a unit.

Though he was trained to act independently, he had spent most of hismilitary career as part of a team. The Elite had managed to flank himbecause his was simply accustomed to one of his fellow Spartans watching outfor him.

He was cut off from the chain of command, alone, and most likely surroundedby the enemy. He nodded, his face grim behind the mirrored visor. Thismission would require a major revision in his tactics.

He pushed his way up through a meadow thick with knee-high, spiky grass. Hecould hear the distant chatter of automatic weapons fire and knew someMarines were somewhere up ahead.

He sprinted toward the sound of battle. Perhaps he wouldn’t be on his ownfor long.

Deployment+00 hours:05 minutes:08 seconds (Captain Keyes’

Mission Clock) / Lifeboat Kilo Tango Victor 17, in emergencydescent to surface of Halo.

Maybe it was because theAutumn ’s navigator, Ensign Lovell, was at thecontrols, or maybe it was simply a matter of good luck, but whatever thereason, the rest of the trip down through Halo’s atmosphere was completelyuneventful. So peaceful that it made Keyes nervous.

“Where would you like me to put her down, sir?” Lovell inquired, as thelifeboat skimmed a grassy plain.

“Anywhere,” Keyes answered, “so long as there aren’t any Covenant forcesaround. Some cover would be nice—since this boat will act like a magnet ifwe leave it out in the open.”

Like most of its kind, the lifeboat had never been intended for extendedatmospheric use; it flew like a rock, in fact. But the suggestion madesense, so the pilot turned toward what he had arbitrarily designated as the“west,” and the point where the grasslands met a tumble of low rollinghills.

The lifeboat was low, so low that the Covenant patrol barely had time to seewhat it was before the tiny vessel flashed over their heads and disappeared.

The veteran Elites, both of whom were mounted on small single-seathoversleds, Ghosts, stood to watch the lifeboat skim the plain.

The senior of the pair called the sighting in. They turned toward the hillsand opened their throttles. What had promised to be a long, boring daysuddenly seemed a great deal more interesting. The Elites glanced at eachother, bent over their controls, and raced to see which of them could reachthe lifeboat first—and which of them would score the first kill of theafternoon.

Deep in the hills ahead, Lovell fired the lifeboat’s bow thrusters, droppedwhat flaps the stubby little wings had, and jazzed the boat’s belly jets.

Keyes watched in admiration as the young pilot dropped the boat into a gullywhere it would be almost impossible to spot, except from directly overhead.

Lovell had been a troubled officer, well on his way to a dishonorabledischarge, when Keyes had recruited him. He’d come a long way since then.

“Nice job,” the Captain said as the lifeboat settled onto its skids.

“Okay, boys and girls, let’s strip this ship of everything that might beuseful, and put as much distance between it and ourselves as we can.

Corporal, post your Marines as sentries. Wang, Dowski, Abiad, open thosestorage compartments. Let’s see what brand of champagne the UNSC keeps inits lifeboats. Hikowa, give me a hand with this body.”

There was a certain amount of commotion as ’Nosolee’s corpse was carriedoutside and unceremoniously dumped into a crevice, the boat was stripped,and the controls were disabled. With emergency packs on their backs, thebridge crew started up into the hills. They hadn’t gone far when a sonicboom rolled over the land, thePillar of Autumn roared across the sky, anddropped over the horizon to the arbitrary “south.”

Keyes held his breath as he waited to see what would happen. He, like allCOs, had neural implants that linked him to the ship, the ship’s AI, andkey personnel. There was a pause, followed by what felt like a mild earthtremor. A moment later, a terse message from Cortana’s subroutine scrolledacross his vision, courtesy of his neural lace:

>CSR-1 :: BURST BROADCAST ::

>PILLAR OF AUTUMNIS DOWN. THOSE SYSTEMS WHICH REMAIN FUNCTIONAL ARE ON STANDBY.

OPERATIONAL READINESS STANDS AT 8.7%.

>CSR-1 OUT.

It wasn’t the sort of message that any commanding officer would want toreceive. In spite of the fact that theAutumn would never swim through spaceagain, Keyes took some small comfort from the fact that his ship still hadthe equivalent of a pulse, and might still come in handy.

He forced a smile. “Okay, people, what are we waiting for? Our cave awaits.

The last one to the top digs the latrine.”

The bridge personnel continued their climb.

In spite of efforts to keep the HEVs together, the Helljumpers came down ina landing zone that stretched approximately three kilometers in diameter.

Some of the landings were classic two-point affairs in which the morefortunate Marines were able to jettison their crash cages about fifty metersoff the ground, and land like sim soldiers in a training vid.

Others were a good deal less graceful, as the skeletal remains of their droppods smashed against cliffs, dropped into lakes, and in one unfortunate caserolled into a deep ravine. As the surviving Helljumpers extricatedthemselves from their HEVs, a homing beacon snapped to life, and they wereable to orient themselves to the red square which appeared on theirtransparent eye-screens. That was where Major Silva had landed, a temporaryHQ had been established, and the battalion would regroup.

Each pod was stripped of extra weapons, ammo, and other supplies, whichmeant that the force which converged on the hot dry plateau was wellequipped. Helljumpers were supposed to be able to operate without externalresupply for two-week periods, and Silva was pleased that his troops hadretained most of their gear, despite the difficult drop conditions.

In fact,Silva thought as he watched his troops stream in from everydirection,the only thing we lack is a fleet of Warthogs and a squad ofScorpions. But those assets would come, oh, yes they would, shortly afterthe butte was wrenched from enemy hands. In the meantime, the Helljumperswould use what ground-pounders always use: their feet.

First Lieutenant Melissa McKay had landed safely, as had most of her 130personcompany. Three of her people had been killed in action on theAutumn ,and two were missing and presumed dead. Not too bad, all things considered.

As luck would have it, McKay hit the dirt only half a klick away from thehoming beacon, which meant that by the time a perimeter had been establishedshe had already humped her gear across the hardpan, located Major Silva, andreported in. McKay was one of his favorites. The ODST officer nodded by wayof a greeting. “Nice of you to drop in, Lieutenant . . . I was beginning towonder if you’d taken the afternoon off.”

“No, sir,” McKay responded. “I dozed off on the way down and sleptthrough my wake-up alarm. It won’t happen again.”

Silva managed to keep a straight face. “Glad to hear it.”

He paused, then pointed. “You see that butte? The one with the structureson top? I want it.”

McKay looked, brought her binoculars up, and looked again. The butte’srange appeared along the bottom of the image and was soon chased out of theframe by coordinates that Wellsley inserted to replace the concepts oflongitude and latitude which worked on most planetary surfaces, but nothere.

The sun was “setting” but there was still enough light to see by. As shesurveyed the target area, a Covenant Banshee took off from the top of thebutte, circled out toward the “west,” and came straight at her. The onlything that was surprising about that was the fact that it had taken theenemy so long to respond to their landing.

“It looks like a tough nut to crack, sir. Especially from the ground.”

“It is,” Silva agreed, “which is why we’re going to tackle it from boththe airand the ground. Lord only knows how they did it, but a group ofPelican pilots were able to launch their transports before the Old Manbrought theAutumn down, and they’re hidden about ten klicks north of here.

We can use them to support an airborne operation.”

McKay lowered her binoculars. “And theAutumn ?”

“She’s KIA back thataway,” Silva replied, hooking his thumb back over ashoulder. “I’d like to go pay my final respects, but that will have towait. What we need is a base, something we can fortify, and use to hold theCovenant at bay. Otherwise they’re going to hunt our people down one, two,or three at a time.”

“Which is where the butte comes in,” McKay said.

“Exactly,” Silva answered. “So, start walking. I want your company at thefoot of that butte ASAP. If there’s a path to the top I want you to find itand follow it. Once you get their attention, we’ll hit them from above.”

There was a loudbang as one of the first company’s rocket jockeys fired herM19 SSM man-portable launcher, blew the incoming Banshee out of the sky, anda put a period to Silva’s sentence. The battalion cheered as the Bansheebits dribbled smoke and wobbled out of the sky.

“Sir, yes sir,” McKay answered. “When we get up there, you can buy me abeer.”

“Fair enough,” Silva agreed, “but we’ll have to brew it first.”

Even Grunts had to be granted some rest once in a while, which was why long,cylindrical tanks equipped with air locks had been shipped to Halo’ssurface, where they were pumped full of methane and used in lieu ofbarracks.

Having survived the nearly suicidal attack on theAutumn by rescuing awounded Elite, and insisting that the warrior be evacuated rather than leftto die, Yayap had extended the duration of his own life, not to mentionthose of the Grunts directly under his command.

Now, by way of celebrating that victory, the alien soldier was curled in atiny ball, fast asleep. One leg twitched slightly as the Grunt dreamed ofmaking his way through the swamps of his home world, past naturallyoccurring pillars of fire, to the marshy estuary where he had grown up.

Then, before he could cross a row of ancient stepping-stones to the reedyhut on the far side of the family’s ancestral fish pond, Gagaw shook hisarm. “Yayap! Get up quick! Remember the Elite we brought down from theship? He’s outside, and he wants to see you!”

Yayap sprang to his feet. “Me?Did he say why?”

“No,” the other Grunt replied, “but it can’t be good.”

That much was certainly true, Yayap reflected as he waded through the chaosof equipment that hung in untidy clusters along the length of the cylinder.

He entered the communal lavatory, and hurried to don his armor, breathingapparatus, and weapons harness.

Which was more dangerous, he wondered, to show up disheveled, and have theElite find fault with his appearance, or to show up later because he hadtaken the time required to ensure that his appearance would be acceptable?

Dealing with Elites always seemed to involve such conundrums, which was oneof the many reasons that Yayap had a hearty dislike for their kind.

Finally, having decided to favor speed over appearance, Yayap entered theair lock, waited for it to cycle him through, and emerged into the brightsunlight. The first thing he noticed was that the sentries, who couldnormally be found leaning against the tank discussing how awful the rationswere, stood at rigid attention.

“Are you the one called Yayap?” The deep voice came from behind him andcaused the Grunt to jump. He turned, came to attention, and tried to looksoldierly. “Yes, Excellency.”

The Elite named Zuka ’Zamamee wore no helmet. He couldn’t, not with thedressing that was wrapped around his head, but the rest of his armor wasstill in place. It was spotlessly clean, as were the weapons he wore.

“Good. The medics told me that you and your file not only pulled me off theship—but forced the assault boat to bring me down to the surface.”

Yayap felt a lump form in his throat and struggled to swallow it. The pilothad been somewhat reluctant, citing orders to wait for a full load of troopsbefore breaking contact with the human ship, but Gagaw had been quiteinsistent—even going so far as to pull his plasma pistol and wave it about.

“Yes, Excellency,” Yayap replied, “but I can explain—”

“There’s no need,” ’Zamamee replied. Yayap almost jumped; the Elite’svoice lacked the customary bark of command. It sounded almost . . .

reassuring.

Yayap was anything but reassured.

“You saw that a superior had been wounded,” the Elite continued, “and didwhat you could to ensure that he received timely medical treatment. Thatsort of initiative is rare, especially among the lower classes.”

Yayap stared at the Elite, unable to reply. He felt disoriented. In hisuniverse, Elites didn’t offer accolades.

“To show my appreciation I’ve had you transferred.”

Yayapliked the normally sleepy unit to which he was attached, and had nodesire to leave it. “Transferred, Excellency? To what unit?”

“Why, tomy unit,” the Elite replied, as if nothing could be more natural.

“My assistant was killed as we boarded the human ship.You will take hisplace.”

Yayap felt his spirits plummet. The Elites who acted as special operativesof the Prophets were fanatics, chosen for their limitless willingness torisk their lives—and the lives of those under their command. “Th-thankyou, Excellency,” Yayap stuttered, “but I don’t deserve such an honor.”

“Nonsense!” the Elite replied. “Your name has already been added to therolls. Gather your belongings, say good-bye to your cohort, and meet me herefifteen units from now. I’m scheduled to appear in front of the Council ofMasters later this evening. You will accompany me.”

“Yes, Excellency,” Yayap said obediently. “May I inquire as to thepurpose of the meeting?”

“You may,” ’Zamamee replied, allowing a hand to touch the bandage thatcircled his head. “The human who inflicted this wound was a warrior socapable that he represents a danger to the entire battle group. Anindividual who, if our records can be believed, is personally responsiblefor the deaths of more than a thousand of our soldiers.”

Yayap felt his knees start to give. “By himself, Excellency?”

“Yes. But never fear, those days are over. Once I receive authorization,you and I will find this human.”

“Findhim?” Yayap exclaimed, protocol forgotten. “Thenwhat?”

“Then,” ’Zamamee growled, “we will kill him.”

The dawn air was cold, and McKay could see her breath as she stared upwardand wondered what awaited her. Half the night had been spent marching acrossthe stretch of intervening hardpan to get into position below the butte, andthe other half had been spent between trying to find a way up to the top,and grabbing a little bit of sleep.

The second task had been easy, perhaps a littletoo easy, because other thana sloppily constructed barricade, the foot of the four-foot-wide ramp wasentirely unguarded. Still, the last thing the Covenant expected was for ahuman ship to appear out of Slipspace, and land infantry on the surface ofthe construct. Viewed in that light, a certain lack of preparation wasunderstandable.

In any case, the path started at ground level, spiraled steadily upward, andhadn’t been used in some time judging from what she could see. That’s theway itappeared , anyway, although it was hard to be sure from below, andSilva was understandably reluctant to send in one of the Pelicans lest itgive the plan away.

No, McKay and her troops would have to wind their way up along the narrowpath, engage whatever defenses the Covenant might have in place, and hopethat the Pelicans arrived quickly enough to take the pressure off.

The Lieutenant eyed the readout on the transparent boom-mounted eye-screenattached to her helmet, waited for the countdown to complete itself, andstarted up the steep incline. Company Sergeant Tink Carter turned to facethe men and women lined up behind him. “What the hell are you waiting for?

An engraved invitation? Let’s get it in gear.”

While B Company marched toward the butte, and C Company marched off torendezvous with the Pelicans, the rest of the battalion used the remaininghours of darkness to prepare for the following day under Major Silva’swatchful eye. Wireless sensors were placed two hundred meters out andmonitored by Wellsley; three-person fire teams took up positions a hundredfifty meters out; and a rapid response team was established to support them.

There wasn’t any natural cover here, so the Helljumpers moved their gear uponto a low rise, and did what they could to place fortifications around it.

Dirt excavated from the firing pits was used to build a low barrier aroundthe battalion’s perimeter, connecting trenches were dug, and a landing padwas established so that Pelicans could put down within the battalion’sfootprint.

Now, standing at the very highest point of the pad, and gazing off to thewest, Silva listened as Wellsley spoke into his ear. “I have good news andbad news. Thegood news is that Lieutenant McKay has started her climb.

Thebad news is that the Covenant is about to attack from the west.”

Silva lowered his glasses, turned, and looked to the west. An enormous dustcloud had appeared during the five minutes that had passed since he lookedthat way. “Whatkind of attack?” the ODST officer demanded curtly.

“That’s rather difficult to say,” Wellsley replied deliberately,“especially without the ships, satellites, and recon drones that I normallyrely on for information. However, judging from the amount of dust, plus myknowledge of the Covenant weapons inventory, it looks like an old-fashionedcavalry charge similar to the one that Napoleon threw my way at Waterloo.”

“You weren’t at Waterloo,” Silva reminded the AI as he brought thebinoculars up to his eyes. “But, assuming you’re correct, what are theyriding?”

“Rapid attack and reconnaissance vehicles which our forces refer to asGhosts,” Wellsley replied pedantically. “Perhaps a hundred of them . . .

judging from the dust.”

Silva swore. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The Covenant had torespond to his presence, he knew that, but he had hoped for a little moretime. Now, with fully half his strength committed elsewhere, he was leftwith roughly two hundred troops. Still, they were ODST troops, the best inthe UNSC.

“All right,” Silva said grimly, “if they want to charge, let’s give themthe traditional counter. Order the pickets to pull back, tell Companies Aand D to form an infantry square, and let’s get all the backup ammo belowground level. I want assault weapons in the pits, launchers halfway up theslope, and snipers up on the pad. No one fires until I give the command.”

Like Silva, Wellsley knew that the Roman legions had used the infantrysquare to good effect, as had Lord Wellington, and many since. Theformation, which consisted of a box with ranks of troops all facing outward,was extremely hard to break.

The AI relayed the instructions to the troops, who, though surprised to bedeployed in such an archaic way, knew exactly what to do. By the time theGhosts arrived and washed around the rise like an incoming tide, the squarewas set.

Silva studied the rangefinder in his tac display and waited until the enemywas in range. He keyed the all-hands freq and gave the order: “Fire!Fire!

”

Sheets of armor-piercing bullets sleeted through the air. The lead machinesstaggered as if they had run into a wall, Elites tumbled out of their seats,and a runaway machine skittered to the east.

But there were a lot of the attack vehicles and as the oncoming hordesprayed the Marines with plasma fire, ODST troopers began to fall.

Fortunately, the weapons that fired the energy bolts were fixed, which meantthat the rise would continue to offer the humans a good deal of protection,so long as the Ghosts weren’t allowed to climb the slopes.

Also operating in the Helljumpers’ favor were the skittish nature of themachines themselves, some poor driving, and a lack of overall coordination.

Many of the Elites seemed eager to score a kill: They broke formation andraced ahead of their comrades. Silva saw one attack craft take fire fromanother Ghost, which crashed into a third machine, which subsequently burstinto flame.

The majority of the Elites were quite competent, however, and after someinitial confusion, they went to work devising tactics intended to break thesquare. A gold-armored Elite led the effort. First, rather than allowing theriders to circle the humans in whatever direction they chose, he forced theminto a counterclockwise rotation. Then, having reduced collisions by atleast a third, the enemy officer chose the lowest pit, the one against whichthe fixed plasma cannons would be most effective, and drove at it time andtime again. Marines were killed, the outgoing fire slackened, and one cornerof the square became vulnerable.

Silva countered by sending a squad to reinforce the weak point, ordering hissnipers to concentrate their fire on the gold Elite, and calling on therocket jockeys to provide rotating fire. If the humans’ launchers had aweakness, it was the fact that they could only fire two rockets before beingreloaded, which left at least five seconds between volleys. By alternatingfire, and concentrating on the Ghosts closest to the hill, the Marinedefenders were able to leverage the weapons’ effectiveness.

This strategy proved effective. Wrecked, burned, and mangled Ghosts formed ametal barricade, further protecting the humans from plasma fire, andinterfering with new attacks.

Silva lifted his binoculars and surveyed the smoke-laced battle area. Heoffered a silent thanks to whatever deity watched over the infantry. Hadheled the assault, Silva would have sent in air support first to pin theHelljumpers down—followed by Ghosts from the west. His opposite number hadbeen trained differently, had too much confidence in his mechanized troops,or was just plain inexperienced.

Whatever the reason, the Banshees were thrown into the mix late, apparentlyas an afterthought. Silva’s rocket jockeys knocked two of the aircraft outof the air on the first pass, nailed another one on the second pass, andsent the fourth running south with smoke trailing from its failing engines.

Finally, with the gold Elite dead, and more than half of their numberslaughtered, the remaining Elites withdrew. Some of the Ghosts remaineduntouched, but at least a dozen of the surviving ships carried extra riders,and most were riddled with bullet holes. Two, their engines destroyed, weretowed off the field of battle.

This is why we need the butte,Silva thought as he surveyed the carnage,toavoid another victory like this one. Twenty-three Helljumpers were dead, sixwere critically injured, and ten had lesser wounds.

Static burped in his ear, and McKay’s voice crackled across the commandfreq.“Blue One to Red One, over.”

Silva swung toward the butte, raised his glasses, and saw smoke drift awayfrom a point about halfway up the pillarlike formation. “This is Red One—go. Over.”

“I think we have their attention, sir.”

The Major grinned. It looked more like a grimace. “Roger that, Blue One. Weput on a show for them, as well. Hang tight . . . help is on the way.”

McKay ducked back beneath a rocky overhang as the latest batch of plasmagrenades rained down from above. Some kept on falling, others found targets,bonded to them, and exploded seconds later.

A trooper screamed as one of the alien bombs landed on top of his rucksack.

A sergeant yelled, “Dump the pack!” but the Marine panicked, andbackpedaled off the path. The grenade exploded and sprayed the cliff facewith what looked like red paint. The infantry officer winced.

“Roger, Red One. Sooner would be a whole helluva lot better than later.

Over and out.”

Wellsley ordered the Pelicans into the air as Silva stared out over theplain. He wondered if his plan would work, and if he could stomach theprice.