Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [70]
Roland steadied his submachine gun and was prepared to fire when another explosion boomed off in the distance, across the valley.
The second, unexpected explosion must have been the work of the other infiltration team, Roland thought. Though the two Headhunter teams were acting independently, Roland and Jonah had been designated Team One and were serving as the mission’s primary assault squad, meaning the secondary team would wait for their attack before initiating one of their own.
The explosion Roland triggered at the sniper perch gave Team Two the go-ahead, though Roland was surprised they’d been in a position to follow so quickly on the heels of his and Jonah’s assault. Not that it bothered him. With two simultaneous stealth attacks against what the Covenant thought was an unknown outpost, the aliens would be in complete disarray. The timing of the second attack allowed each team a slightly increased window of opportunity, but there was still no room for delays.
Roland threw his second grenade. The two shieldless Elites went down, not dead, but out of the fight—one missing its legs at the knees and the other with a gaping wound in its stomach, intestines and fluid pouring forth onto the matted grass.
The remaining Elites once again lost their shields, this time for good. They wheeled around, trying to spot their attacker. Roland’s camo flickered, momentarily giving away his position, as he emptied his clip into the disoriented Elites.
Across the compound, Jonah had stepped into the barracks to find a dozen bewildered Covenant—six Grunts, two Jackals and four Elites, all with some level of confusion plastered on their faces.
The initial explosion had caught them off guard and the disruptor had removed their shields and deactivated their weapons. Now, still reeling from the effects of the flash bangs, the lot of them were essentially helpless. Not being one to waste the upper hand, Jonah pressed the issue, driven by a terrible motivation that sat at the heart of his hatred for the Covenant—the thought of his biological brothers and sisters, his mother and father, killed—murdered—vaporized into dust and ash during the Covenant’s sacking of Eirene.
As the first few silent rounds flashed from the muzzle of his M7S, impacting on the nearest Elite’s chest and throat, the momentary sadness brought on by the memory of his family’s smiling faces dissipated, replaced by joy.
THE STARK contrast between Jonah’s words—that wasn’t so bad—and the sight of him made his proclamation all the more surreal.
He stood calmly, coolly, on the lip of the slope that led to the Covenant barracks building. Even clad in full armor, the cockiness and pure confidence of his pose betrayed the shit-eating grin Roland was certain was plastered on his friend’s face. And then there was the blood.
How anything could be labeled as “not so bad” and yet involve that much carnage—Roland just laughed.
The remaining Covenant stood transfixed, bewildered by what they saw: Standing on a low ridge in the middle of their encampment was a sole combatant, a lowly human dog, coated in the blood and viscera of their brethren. Such a thing was unthinkable.
Once he was certain he had their complete and undivided attention, Jonah knelt, slowly—deliberately—never taking his eyes off his enraged foes.
In his right hand, Jonah held his combat knife, gripped blade back, eager for a fight. Thick chunks of flesh and clots of purple and green blood stuck to the blade’s edge—hanging in strings, like saliva from the maw of a ravenous beast. With his left hand, Jonah reached for the ground, pausing only briefly as he gripped something just out of sight.
Roland watched from the nearby shadows as he set the remainder of the charges along the rim of the final reactor. His suit’s active-camo function was quickly depleting its dedicated power supply, and he could see that the Covenant,