Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [73]
Nestled in the center of the tower support, nanowire cables stretched to anchor points from a hundred meters to kilometers distant, and lines of elevator cars waited in a queue.
The cars were usually loaded by crane and rail with fiberglass cargo pods. Today however, three Brutes wrestled crates into the car, secured them with ropes, and protected them with Sty-rofoam wedges.
Fred shook his head—as if those nukes would go off if jostled. You could set a bomb off in there and their hardened cases would barely be scratched. Without the detonator codes, those older nukes were no more dangerous than paperweights.
The Brutes entered the car, and started to force the wide doors shut.
Fred flashed his green status light to Will and Linda. He
couldn't wait. He had to stop those Brutes now, before they rolled up the stalk—out of
reach. He slung his assault rifle and hefted his captured grenade launcher. He fired two
projectiles arced into the elevator.
Fred sprinted for the car and its closing doors.
Detonations flashed inside.
Fred jumped—twisted sideways, scraping through the slight space between the doors.
He landed, rolled to his feet, and saw the open-mawed expressions of the three stunned
Brutes. He leveled his rifle and shot one in the face.
Fred turned as the other blinked and charged him. He blasted it point-blank between the eyes.
The Brute bowled him over, and its fists came down in twin hammer blows that stunned Fred and drained his shields to a quarter charge.
Blood streamed from its snarling face… and then it finally registered the rounds that had penetrated its thick skull. It toppled upon Fred, inert.
The last Brute pulled the body off, and pointed a grenade launcher at Fred's faceplate.
Fred's rifle was missing. He tried to shake off the disorientation from the double knockout blow. His head felt like it was filled with biofoam.
The Brute seemed to grin.
Two soft puffs sounded.
The Brute stiffened and collapsed to the deck, a pair of holes spraying blood from the base of its head.
Shadows crossed the slight opening between the doors.
Will and Linda slipped inside. Will moved straight to the car's manual-override panel. Linda's sniper rifle still smoldered.
"Company's coming fast," she said and then shot each Brute once more. "I hope this car can still move."
Fred regained his senses.
The inside of the car was a mess. The grenades had busted every crate and punched rents into the walls. A dozen conical warheads lay scattered, but intact, on the deck.
Fred took up position by the door and looked out.
Three Wraith tanks crushed a path through the complex, heading their way. In the sky. Banshee fliers circled.
"Here…" Fred dug into his satchel and handed Will the ONI datapad.
Will booted the intrusion software and cut through the elevator's control software. "Hang on," he said. "Maximum acceleration."
The climbing motors engaged and high-frequency screams rattled the car.
"Ah—the clutch," Will noted and pressed a button.
A jolt of upward acceleration hit. Fred, Linda, and Will dropped to all fours, and the car groaned and pinged.
Fred rolled over and looked out the open doors. The ground dropped away; the Wraith tanks looked like toys.
Would they fire on the stalk? Or would they gather forces and follow them with another car?
"Will…" he said.
"I'm on it." Will returned to the override panel. "Interfacing with Stalk Control. Jamming the sequencing tracks. That should slow them down."
Linda eased next to Fred by the open doors. She set a tiny satellite dish down and it opened like a rose bud. "Getting a UNSC network handshake," she reported.
"Raise CENTCOM," Fred told her. "Tell them we need an extreme low-orbit extraction. We'll need a fast ship to get in before those Covenant ships at the top can—"
"Stand by," Linda said. "FLEETCOM contacting us." She turned to Fred. "It's Lord Hood on Cairo Station."
Lord Hood's unshakably confident voice came over the COM: "Give me a status update, Blue Team."
"Sir," Fred answered. "Covenant forces at the COE