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 fac............