Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [72]
"Where are they going?" Fred asked.
She shifted her sight. "Elevator. They've got an ascent car half full."
"Switch to neutron detector," Fred suggested.
Linda twisted a dial on the Oracle scope. "Cargo pods are hot," she confirmed.
"Nukes?" Will said. "Covenant don't use nukes. They have an edict about using 'heretic' weapons."
He was right. Fred had seen Elites, their weapons depleted of charge, die rather than touch fully loaded UNSC assault rifles at their feet.
But Brutes weren't Elites.
"Estimate ten minutes before that ascent car is loaded to capacity," Linda said.
Fred had to think fast, or failing that, just act. No, he resisted that impulse. Better to figure this out, at least tactically, before he had his team rush in.
"We could take a dozen Brutes," Will said. "Linda could snipe them. We could move in and engage one at a time."
"Too slow," Fred told him. "And they'd send for reinforcements. The ascent car could be on its way up the stalk before we could get to it."
Linda moved her aim from side to side. "Got a parking lot. Warthogs, trucks, APCs… a gasoline tanker truck."
Fred and Will exchanged a glance.
"It's an old-school rebel," Fred murmured, "but I like it. Linda, make a hole. Will, you introduce that tanker to the Scarab. I'll secure the ascent car. You two meet me after the bang." He took a deep breath, recalling how tough these monsters were. "They use auto-grenade launchers," he told them, "and they're too strong and tough to engage in close quarters. Try for the head shot—at range."
"Roger that," Will said.
Linda's green status light winked on in reply. She was entering her sniper icy-cold state of Zen no-thought.
Fred nodded to Will and they ran in opposite directions along the edge of the brush. Fred stopped when he was a kilometer from Linda's position, and then he sent his green status
signal.
A moment later. Will's status burned green.
Fred rechecked his assault rifle, his extra magazines, and then tensed preparing to run.
A patrol of three Brutes moved along the edge of the facility. They were smart, keeping
to the shadows, glancing back and forth, sniffing.
There were three distant coughs—three splashes of blood— and three Brutes, each missing their right eye and a fair portion of their ugly face, crumpled.
There was no warning light from Linda, so she had no additional targets in sight. She'd
soon reposition higher to get a better view.
This was Fred's opening.
He sprinted to the base, and ducked around the corner of a warehouse—nearly bumping
into a Brute running toward his position.
It towered over him, covered in thick slabs of muscle and dull blue rhinolike hide.
Fred fired without thinking, a full-auto burst, dead center of mass.
The Brute rushed him, unfazed.
Fred stepped into the beast's charge, striking at its thick neck with the butt of his rifle. It
connected.
The Brute reeled back and roared.
Fred unloaded the remaining rounds in his magazine into the Brute's open mouth.
The Brute snarled a mouthful of shattered, smoldering teeth and took two steps toward
Fred… and fell.
Fred reflexively reloaded his MA5B, and slowed his breathing. He grabbed the Brute's blade-tipped RPG.
His motion tracker should have picked the Brute up. Maybe his recent saltwater dunking and ice encrustation had caused a problem in the MJOLNIR system.
Fred rebooted his tracker; it flickered, and then showed five enemy contacts moving fast in his direction.
This could get more complicated.
He heard the rumble of a diesel engine, turned, and saw the blur of an eighteen-wheel tanker crashing through the gate and guardhouse.
Will was about to make things very hot,
Fred ran, hugging the walls of the warehouse. He turned the next corner and watched a fireball envelop the fifty-five-meter-tall Scarab walker—the tanker truck crushed under one "foot."
The Scarab ignited, its board rector breached, spewing white-blue plasma down the streets, turning asphalt to flame, and melting steel-clad buildings.
Will's status light flickered green.
Fred moved toward