Time seemed to slow, as the Elite raised its plasma rifle. Anderson didn't think; she just reacted, and slammed the butt of her rifle into the Elite's knee. That action saved her life, as the Elite teetered, and the energy blast discharged harmlessly.
Her driver noticed the Elite's situation, and yanked the wheel hard to the left. The Elite fell off with a yowl of rage, and Anderson empied her clip into its face.
Amazingly, the convoy made it through safely, although passengers were missing from Romeo Warthog units one and two. "Full speed." She ordered over the SQUADCOM. The sergeant pinged her navigation marker, and a red-orange triangle appeared in her heads-up display.
"Turn left bearing two ninety, and drive straight. Keep your eyes open, soldiers, this ain't a milk run." The Longsword swooped out in front of them. "R.V. point clear." The pilot reported.
They drove another few minutes, and ended up near the causeway. Anderson ordered everyone to halt, and the soldiers get out of their vehicles, except for Linsk, the 'Hog gunners, and the Longsword, designated Knife Three-Eight. She made sure her weapons were loaded, and stepped forward.
The first thing that Anderson noticed was a large number of Elites, dead. It looked like they were slashed, and stabbed, rather than shot. One corpse had only a waist, if you could call it that, and legs.
Two privates, with Battle Rifles, approached, and covered her six.
Suddenly, a pair of plasma swords ignited, and the marines instinctively leveled their weapons. However, the sergeant signalled them to stand down.
Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN-117 stepped out from the shadows. When he confirmed their identity, he deactivated the swords.
"Sergeant," He said."Got that ordnance?"
Anderson jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Back there, sir. In the hauler. Most of the convoy made it through."
Cortana piped in through the helmet's external speakers. "We'll need an aircraft to board the gravity lift. If we're lucky, we might be able to capture one of the Phantoms..."
"No need," Anderson interrupted. "We have one intact Longsword GSA-IV, but it'll need a suitable place to put down. Where's the nearest open space?"
"Scanning topographic and residential maps," Cortana said."There's a bit of an empty street two hundred meters to the west. It might be a bit of a tight squeeze, though, for landing."
Anderson shrugged. "Our pilot can handle it. You know what the pilots are like in these corps...mercury for blood, and nerves of steel."
The Chief surveyed what was left of the convoy. "I don't suppose you'll be heavy with an extra passenger."
"Of course not, sir."
"Tell your squad to lock and load. We move out in ninety seconds."
"Sir!"She saluted, and broadcast the message over the COM.
John found a spare Warthog, with a driver, and gunner. He strode up to the gunner."C'mon down, Private. You're sitting shotgun. I'll man the rocket launcher."
The Private looked less than happy to be rid of a heavy weapon, but he saluted, and jumped into the passenger seat.
"Cortana, copy the co-ordinates, and upload them to everyone's HUD." John said. As soon as he finished his order, a NAV marker appeared.
"Way ahead of you." Cortana remarked.
The Chief gestured towards Sergeant Anderson, who recognized the signal. "Let's move out, people!" She yelled.
CHAPTER THREE-----
They arrived at the rendevous point without delay, or opposition. That was strange, since New Mombasa was crawling with Covenant uglies.
The Longsword was waiting for them, ramp down. Her pilot was inside, drinking a shot of old whiskey.
John walked up to him, and said,"Warrant Officer, you know that drinking's prohibited. Stop it."
The pilot, which was named Warrant Officer Chris Folensky, shrugged. "These ain't normal times anymore, Chief. Who gives a damn, anyway?"
The Chief said nothing, but he was thinking the same. However, he turned toward the other vehicles, and Anderson. "Cortana's going to help Folensky here fly this thing."
"Sir?" She frowned.
He explained."Cortana is going to take a ride in the Longsword here. She's going to help Folensky out with the navigation . The Longsword will distract them, hopefully their fighters...it'll buy us time enough."
The Master Chief opened up a private COM channel to Cortana. "Trust me in this, Cortana. If things grow nasty, plug yourself in, and take over the steering wheel. Contact us if you're successful. And come back in one piece."
"Right...you realize this is the second time you've sent me ahead to do your 'dirty' work for you?"
John smiled at her quip, and pulled her service chip out of his Interface slot. He handed it to Folensky, who ran up the ramp, breezed through the preflight checks, and started the engines.
The Spartan turned to the rest. "Get a few minutes rest, but stay on guard, reload your guns, and keep your eyes open."
After a while, Cortana's voice broke in over the COM. "Okay, Master Chief. Rest assured they are distracted, and pissed."
John frowned."What did you do, exactly?"
Cortana laughed."Blew up their 'Field Master', and a couple of unintelligent Hunters. Oh, and destroyed one of their wraiths."
"Couldn't have done better myself." He made a couple of hand signals to the rest, and they jumped aboard their various vehicles. The Chief manned Romeo Three's rocket pods. "Cortana, can you-"
"Way ahead of you." A NAV marker appeared in his head-up display.
"Did you transfer it to the others?"
"Of course."
John closed the COM channel, and called to the other soldiers. "You know where to drive, people. Let's move!" His vehicle lurched, the tires caught the cement, and the rest of the convoy followed.
After a while, the Chief spotted a few purple dots. He let go of the rocket dispenser with one hand, pointed to his faceplate, and made a bat-like shape. Enemy aircraft detected. He wiggled his fingers, and extended them straight outwards, palm facing out. Scatter formation.
The vehicles obeyed. John's 'Hog drifted to the right. Amy Anderson's vehicles fell behind and did the same. Linsk remained in the centre, the hauler fell behind, and Romeo Two sped up, overtaking the rest of the convoy.
There was no way that they would remain undetected by the Covenant Phantoms. Their sensors were just too damned advanced.
Sure enough, half of the Phantoms split up and advanced towards the convoy, while half pursued a small, fast, triangular dot. Without a doubt, he knew it was Cortana.
Within seconds, the Phantoms closed the distance, and opened fire.
Author's Note-SPOILER ALERT! For those who have read all the Halo novels, remember how Linda was brought "back to life"? I'm bringing someone back from the dead later, as well. I'll leave you to guess who it is.
A plasma bolt the length of his height sizzled past his head by a couple feet. Nevertheless, his sheilding flashed and was gone. The audible alarm shrieked, and his helmet visor automatically darkened to protect his eyes from the flare.
From their accuracy and strategic formation, John could assume that the Phantom pilots were not rookies.
From his left peripheral vision, he could see Anderson's vehicle, in which the Helljumper riding shotgun was swearing, and shouldered a Jackhammer rocket launcher. The driver saw what he was doing, and stopped swerving. Anderson was manning the chaingun on the back, which was sometimes jokingly referred to as "Olde Faithful".
The Spartan fired the Anvil II missle pods, and three missles streaked towards a Phantom, which turned to the right quickly. One missile missed, but the other two impacted. The first missle slammed into the side, and its shields winked out. The other hit a split second later, right into the Phantom's engines, and the aircraft was engulfed in a ball of fire. Shards of debris rained down behind them.
John's COM crackled. It was Cortana. "Chief, from what I am able to calculate from the rate of fuel consumption, I estimate that I have seventeen point two eight minutes of fuel left, before I have to land this bird. Whatever it is you're cooking up, I hope you have time left."
"Don't worry, the mission'll be over in approximately fifteen from now. Anyways, you're just a diversion, remember? Just draw them off long enough for us to place it in the grav lift. In seventeen minutes, we're either successful, or dead."
The Chief's Warthog swerved, and he was jerked against his harness. He looked to his left, and saw Anderson's 'Hog fishtail, straighten, and speed up. A Jackhammer missle shrieked out of the launcher the passenger was holding, and smacked into their target Phantom. The aircraft in question shuddered, and its shields went out. In that critical few seconds, the Phantom slowed down, and Anderson took the opportunity to plant several dozen 12.9 mm rounds in its fuselage, which burst into flame. The Spartan saw the outline of a flaming Elite in the cockpit before it crashed down some distance behind them.
The gravity beam was clear now, only approximately a kilometer distant. As they got closer, John could see many Shades, operated by Grunts. A horde of Covenant stood near the gravity beam, backed by a Wraith mortar tank.
"Any plans?" Amy Anderson's voice crackled through the COM.
"Of course. Tell your tank back there to take out the mortar tank. Have the Jackhammer launchers hit the Shades. Then, we open fire, and drive straight through this bunch. Don't stop firing, and don't pause to reload."
"Full speed ahead." He ordered. The gunners whooped, and the drivers stomped on the accelerater. The Warthogs jumped forward as if they had been whipped, and the Master Chief saw that several Ghosts were driving straight towards them.
Damn it, they were going to try and meet the 'Hogs head on. That was bad.
It was fortunate that they were still in the scatter formation. The Ghosts opened fire as soon as they came within range, their formation a straight line, to try and eliminate room for manuevering. That was luck for the humans, and unfortunate for the Ghost pilots, as the Scorpion fired off a shell. A Ghost exploded and rained the area with shrapnel, and two others capsized.
That left five more Ghosts. The Spartan felt his vehicle straighten, which allowed him to adjust his aim, and send a volley of rockets whistling towards the Covenant vehicles.
The Elite drivers had realized the error of their formation, and were scattering. Two of the five rockets missed, and blew large divots out of the ground. The others impacted, and two more Covenant vehicles dropped. Anderson's vehicle ran one down, which tore its antigrav 'wing' off. The rest of the Ghost skittered behind them, unable to steer properly.
The convoy had gotten close now, close enough for the Shades surrounding the destroyer's gravity beam to open fire. However, the Chief sensed a slight hesitation from the Shade gunners, as if they were waiting for the order to fire.
Maybe it was the fact that Cortana had taken out their "Field Master". Probably a gold Elite. It made John think how many Gold elites that he had seen and killed, over the past few weeks.
So the Covenant and the humans were low on officers. That was pretty much normal in a time of war.
The Shades fired, and tentrils of purple-tinged plasma burned their way towards the convoy. The Scorpion MBT's cannon fired, and one of the Shades flew through the air, scorched, but otherwise appeared functional.
The Master Chief let loose with a barrage of rockets. It was nearly impossible not to hit something, the Covenant fighters were that tightly packed. Two more Shades went down.
Cortana's fighter swooped down, and took a classic covering position over the rest of the convoy. Her voice sounded in the Chief's internal helmet speakers. "I suggest you order the hauler to unload the bomb, once that last Shade goes down."
A navigation marker appeared in his HUD, and the Spartan glimpsed yet one more Shade, perched atop a building. It had a commanding field-of-fire. He shot three rockets towards it, but the range was too great, and the rockets smashed into the side of the building, near the bottom. It wobbled dangerously. An idea sparked in John's head, and he opened a COM channel to Linsk, aboard the Scorpion.
"Corporal, take a shot at the base of the building over there. Be sure to hit near that gap!"
"What-" Static washed out the rest.
"Do it now!" The Chief said. He prayed that Linsk had heard him. Covenant plasma had a frustrating knack of interfering with communications. He had to turn towards the main enemy now, before they were overwhelmed.
The Master Chief heard the MBT's cannon fire again, and he turned around. His heart leapt as the shell connected below his rocket-blasted gap, and the foundations groaned, and gave. The building toppled.
If the Grunt gunner screamed on the way down, John wouldn't have been able to hear him, with all the fracas going on. The Warthogs stopped at the edge of the grav beam. They formed a perimeter around the hauler, which opened up its back, and started unloading.
He leapt off the rocket pods, and yelled at the passenger in his Warthog. "Man the rocket pods!"
The PFC ran out of ammo then, and leapt off the back. "While you do what?"
AUTHOR's Poll----Okay, readers. Now that I realize Halo 2 is going to be out in about three weeks, you want me to:
A) Finish the story on my own creativity, disregarding the actual plot from Halo 2?
B)Finish this specific mission from this plot, and continue with the actual plot from Halo 2?
C)Jump straight to the big battle?
Ahoy, Mandos. I'll just call you Mandos, since i don't type Elvish. Anyways...
The Spartan didn't answer. Instead, he sprinted over to the closest fallen Shade, gutting a Jackal who had the misfortune to get in the way. Using his armor's reactive circuits and his own brute strength, he flipped it up without difficulty. A needler round bounced off, not three feet from his helmet.
He ignored the poorly-aimed plasma fire that the Jackals tossed in his direction, gripped the formers, and heaved himself into the makeshift firing cockpit. The Chief had fired Shades before, and was familiar with the controls. There were two control yokes, one for altitude, and one for azimuth degrees.
John let loose with a stream of hellfire, at the nearest group of Covenant, a group of Grunts and Jackals. Charred flesh and slagged armor were all that remained after he had finished with them.
The hauler had dropped the nuke at the foot of the gravity beam, and a group of technicians were trying to carry it over the groove, and onto the actual gravity pad, where the transparent purple beam emanated. Anderson had set her squad well, forming a perimeter around the bomb, and as John watched, Linsk blew a group of Elites to pieces.
A red-hot hammer smashed into his right shoulder pauldron; a bolt from a plasma rifle. The audible alarm went off, and the heat immediately penetrated his climate control. He felt as if he was sitting in a hot tub, completely submerged. Sweat trickled into his eyes, and obscured his vision.
He blinked, and his vision cleared. A second shot hit one of the Shade's supports. The Master Chief finally found where this source of fire was coming from.
It was a motley-assorted group of variously-colored Elites, armed with needlers and plasma rifles.
The Chief saw the flare of an ignited plasma grenade, and hurled himself to the ground. The grenade sailed over the area where his head was a split-second before, landed three meters away, and detonated.
His shoulder blistered, and he gritted his teeth, banishing the pain from his awareness. The Elites had formed a strategic formation around the base of the Shade, and he couldn't go out either way.
The Spartan brandished both plasma swords, cursing himself for dropping the SMG much earlier. He had to take the initiative for himself, before they rounded the corner, and he was in their gunsights.
A blue-armored Elite stepped around the Shade support, and swept the area with his plasma rifle. A plasma blade flashed forward with astonishing speed. The momentum alone knocked out its personal shielding, and the supercompressed plasma chopped down, cleaving armor, hide, and bone.
With practised speed, John searched the body, and came up with a plasma rifle, and three plasma grenades.
Two more Elites, one red, one black, stepped out. The red tried flanking him, but the Master Chief leveled the plasma sword, and flung it like a frisbee.
The veteran Elite gave a gutteral howl. The blade had stuck between its so-called ribs, and he clawed desperately at the hilt. The veteran actually managed to hold out for two seconds before his guts were completely vaporized. The corpse fell, and the fail-safe tampering detonaters disabled the sword.
The black special-ops Elite leveled a plasma pistol at the Chief, the muzzle glowing eerie green. He hadn't had time to pick up the plasma rifle from the dead Elite, so he balanced the other plasma blade, took aim, and flung.
The sword tore into the Elite's head, and it dropped like a sack of potatoes. The plasma pistol discharged its hellfire harmlessly against the charred duracrete.
The Master Chief quickly grabbed the plasma rifle, and just as he was steading it, two rookie navy-armoured Elites, charged recklessly from behind the slagged Shade. They were not very bright, yes, but they made up for it with a sheer rage, desire for a personal honour. He had seen such aliens charge, heedless of what went on around it.
They fired, but their aim was poor, and the plasma bolts flew over the Chief's head. He took aim, crouched, and fired his stolen plasma rifle. A bolt of blue-tinged fury tore the farther Elite's head off.
The other one swung at his head, but he ducked with lightning speed, and swung an uppercut, using the rifle as a bludgeon. The Elite's sheilding flared from the blow. The Spartan smashed its face in with a roundhouse kick.
Someone pinged his COM, and he opened up a K-band channel to them. A voice yelled into his ear, and his helmet's audio sensors automatically compensated.
"Master Chief, sir! We've loaded it down! Request permission to get the heck out of here!"
John opened up a channel to Cortana. "Cortana, factor in the mass of the nuke, with the rate of channeling from the gavity beam. Give us a countdown, because I don't want them throwing the nuke back down on us."
"Working..."Her disembodied voice said.
A thirty second timer appeared in his heads-up display.
"Thirty seconds?"
"That's what it takes."
"Inform the rest of the soldiers. After you're done that, evacuate and head to the nearest secure military airport. I'll rendevous with you later."
He didn't mention the possibility that he might be dead in thirty seconds, and counting.
Yep, time was money these days. Even more precious than money. He picked up the other plasma rifle.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the Warthogs move. One sluggishly moved towards him.
He opened up a COM channel to the driver, and said, "Get out of here, soldier. Don't worry about me. I'll find some way out...I've been in tougher situations before."
The Warthog kept moving toward him, blasting with "Olde Faithful" at the surrounding Covenant.
"Evacuate! That's an order, dammit!" He sprinted.
But the driver stubbornly pulled up alongside him, and the driver waved him aboard. The Chief saw that it was a young soldier...coundn't have been more than 25.
He heaved himself into the passenger seat, and blasted away at the enemy, dual-weilding with both plasma rifles. To normal Helljumpers, they would be lighter that the standard issue MA5B's, so he had no trouble. John turned to the driver.
"You've got some guts, son."
The soldier in question grinned wolfishly. "Thanks, Chief."
The Spartan saw that he was a Corporal. "Well, if we're not all glassed by the end of the month, I'll see if I can get you a promotion."
"Thanks again, Chief."
The timer now read 14 seconds. If they met no serious oppsition, they could get out of here, alive, and preferably unscathed.