Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [108]
“You seem to have the situation under control,” Cortana said, “I’m going to spend a few cycles and check something out.” “Permission granted,” he said. “I didn’t ask, Master Chief,” she replied. The cool liquid presence in his mind withdrew. The Master Chief felt empty somehow. He ran through the razor fields, snapping through steel wire as if it were rotten string.
Cortana’s coolness once again flooded his thoughts. “I just accessed SATCOM,” she said. “I’m using one of their satellites so I can get a better look at what’s happening down here. There’s a SkyHawk jump jet from Fairchild Field inbound.”
He stopped. The automatic cannons were one thing—could the armor withstand against air power like that? The SkyHawk had a quartet of 50mm cannons that made the chain-guns look like peashooters. They also had Scorpion missiles—designed to take out tanks.
Answer: he couldn’t do a thing against it.
The Master Chief ran. He had to find cover. He sprinted to the next section of the course: the Pillars of Loki. It was a forest of ten-meter-tall poles spaced at random intervals. Typically, the poles had booby traps
strung on, under, and between them—stun grades, sharpened sticks . . . anything the instructors could dream up. The idea was to teach recruits to move slowly and keep their eyes open.
The Master Chief had no time to search for the traps. He climbed up the first pole and balanced on top. He leaped to the next pole, teetered, regained his balance—then jumped to the next. His reflexes had to be perfect; he was landing a half ton of man and armor on a wooden pole ten centimeters in diameter.
“Motion tracking is picking up an incoming target at extreme range,” Cortana warned. “Velocity profile
matches the SkyHawk, Chief.” He turned—almost lost his balance and had to shift back and forth to keep from falling. There was a dot on the horizon, and the faint rumble of thunder.
In the blink of an eye, the dot had wings and the Master Chief’s thermal sensors picked up a plume of jetwash. In seconds, the SkyHawk closed—then opened fire with its 50mm cannons. He jumped.
The wooden poles splintered into pulp. They were mowed down like so many blades of grass. The Master Chief rolled, ducked, and flattened himself on the earth. He caught a smattering of rounds and his shield bar drooped to half. Those rounds would have penetrated his old suit instantly.
Cortana said, “I calculate we have eleven seconds before the SkyHawk can execute a maximum gee turn
and make another pass.” The Master Chief got up and ran through the shattered remains of the poles. Napalm and sonic grenades popped around him, but he moved so fast he left the worst of the damage in his wake.
“They won’t use their cannons next time,” he said. “They didn’t take us out—they’ll try the missiles.” “Perhaps,” Cortana suggested, “we should leave the course. Find better cover.” “No,” he said. “We’re going to win . . . by their rules.” The last leg of the course was a sprint across an open field. In the distance, the Master Chief saw the bell
on a tripod. He glanced over his shoulder.
The SkyHawk was back and starting its run straight toward him.
Even with his augmented speed, even with the MJOLNIR armor—he’d never make it to the bell in time. He’d never make it alive. He turned to face the incoming jet. “I’ll need your help, Cortana,” he said. “Anything,” she whispered. The Master Chief heard nervousness in the AI’s voice. “Calculate the inbound velocity of a Scorpion missile. Factor in my reaction time and the jet’s inbound
speed and distance at launch, and tell me the instant I need to move to sidestep and deflect it with my left arm.”
Cortana paused a heartbeat. “Calculation done. You did say ‘deflect’?” “Scorpion missiles have motion-tracking sensors and proximity detonators. I can’t outrun it. And it won’t miss. That leaves us very few options.”
The SkyHawk dove. “Get ready,” Cortana said. “I hope you know what you