Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [29]
Shane paused to look at Robert and Jane—then turned back to the Elite fire team, and shot in three-round controlled bursts.
More Elites appeared, surrounding the lone Spartan.
Shane's rifle clacked, empty. He pulled out his M6 pistol and continued to fire.
An energy motor detonated like a small sun two meters away.
Shane tumbled through the air, and landed prone, unmov-ing.
"And that's all we have," Colonel Ackerson stated.
Kurt continued to stare at the screen of static, his heart racing, half expecting the feed to go live again and show Shane gather up Robert and Jane, and together they'd limp off the battlefield, wounded, but alive.
Seven years Kurt had trained them, and grown to respect them. Now they were dead. Their sacrifice had saved countless human lives, and yet Kurt still felt like he'd lost everything. He wanted to look away from the screen, but couldn't.
This was his fault. He had failed them. His training hadn't prepared them. He should have rectified the flaws in their Mark-! PR suits and fixed them faster.
Mendez reached over and tapped the Colonel's tablet.
The display mercifully blanked and faded away.
Ackerson shot the Chief a glare, but Mendez ignored him.
"Recent drone recon shows the entire complex cold," the Rear Admiral said. "No more ships will be built at K7-49."
"Just to clarify," Kurt whispered, and then he paused to clear his throat. "There were no survivors of Operation PROMETHEUS?"
"It is regrettable." the Vice Admiral said with the slightest softness now in her voice. "But we would do it again if presented with a similar opportunity, Lieutenant. Such a facility within two weeks' journey of the UNSC outer colonies… your Spartans prevented the building of a Covenant armada that would have resulted in nothing less than the massacre of billions. They are heroes."
Ashes. That's all Kurt felt.
He glanced at Mendez. There was no emotion on his face. The man held his pain well.
"I understand, ma'am," Kurt said.
"Good," she said, all trace of pity had now evaporated from her tone. "I've put you in for a
promotion. Your Spartans performed well above the program's projected parameters. You are to be commended."
Kurt felt the only thing he deserved was a court-martial, but he said nothing.
"Now I want you to focus and accelerate the training of the Beta Company Spartans," she said. "We have a war to win."
CHAPTER
NINE
1620 HOURS, AUGUST 24, 2541 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM, NEAR CAMP CURRAHEE, PLANET ONYX (FOUR YEARS AFTER SPARTAN-III ALPHA COMPANY OPERATION PROMETHEUS)
Bullets peppered the dirt near Tom's head. He pushed farther back into the hole, hugging the ground, trying to be as flat as possible.
The irony was Team Foxtrot had done everything by the book. Maybe that was the lesson today: going by the book doesn't always work.
Tom had led them through the forest, evading snipers and patrols of drill instructors waiting to jump them. They made it too easy.
That should have been his first clue. The DIs never made things easy for them.
When they'd come to the open field he'd checked the perimeter. No one had been there. He'd waited, though, and checked and rechecked. DIs in their Mark-II Semi-Powered Infiltration armor were hard to spot even with the thermal imagers in his field binoculars.
Tom had then warily led his team onto the field and toward the pole with a bell. That was the mission: ring the bell. They had had two hours to find and ring the thing to qualify for continued Spartan training.
There were 418 candidates, and only three hundred slots. Not all of them could be Spartans.
His mistake had been leading his entire team into the clear. They'd all been too eager.
It got them ambushed.
Machine-gun fire from the treetops rained down on them. Adam and Min in flanking positions were immediately taken out.
Only Tom and Lucy had made it to the muddy hole. It was just deep enough