Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [3]
Grunts when they slaughtered the 105th Drop Jet Platoon. They should suffer just as much as those guys
did.” The Chief had nothing to say to that. It wasn’t his job to make things suffer—he was just here to win battles. Whatever it took.
“Blue-Two,” the Chief said. “Get me an uplink.” “Aye aye.” She patched him into the SATCOM system. “Mission accomplished, Captain de Blanc,” the Chief reported. “Enemy neutralized.” “Excellent news,”the Captain said. He sighed, and added,“But we’re pulling you out, Chief.” “We’re just getting warmed up down here, sir.”
“Well, it’s a different story up here. Move out for pickup ASAP.”
“Understood, sir.” The Chief killed the uplink. He told his team, “The party’s over, Spartans. Dust-off in fifteen.”
They jogged double-quick up the ten kilometers of the beach, and returned to their dropship—a Pelican, scuffed and dented from three days’ hard fighting. They boarded and the ship’s engines whined to life.
Blue-Two took off her helmet and scratched the stubble of her brown hair. “It’s a shame to leave this place,” she said, and leaned against the porthole. “There are so few left.”
The Chief stood by her and glanced out as they lifted into the air—there were wide rolling plains of palmgrass, the green expanse of ocean, a wispy band of clouds in the sky, and setting red suns.
“There will be other places to fight for,” he said.
“Will there?” she whispered.
The Pelican ascended rapidly through the atmosphere, the sky darkened, and soon only stars surrounded them.
In orbit, there were dozens of frigates, destroyers, and two massive carriers. Every ship had carbon scoring and holes peppering their hulls. They were all maneuvering to break orbit.
They docked in the port bay of the UNSC destroyerResolute . Despite being surrounded by two meters of titanium-A battle plate and an array of modern weapons, the Chief preferred to have his feet on the ground, with real gravity, and real atmosphere to breathe—a place where he was in control, and where his life wasn’t held in the hands of anonymous pilots. A ship just wasn’t home.
The battlefield was.
The Chief rode the elevator to the bridge to make his report, taking advantage of the momentary respite to read Red Team’s after-action report in his display. As predicted, the Spartans of Red, Blue, and Green Teams—augmenting three divisions of battle-hardened UNSC Marines—had stalled a Covenant ground advance. Casualty figures were still coming in, but—on the ground, at least—the alien forces had been completely stonewalled.
A moment later the lift doors parted, and he stepped on the rubberized deck. He snapped a crisp salute to Captain de Blanc. “Sir. Reporting as ordered.”
The junior bridge officers took a step back from the Chief. They weren’t used to seeing a Spartan in full MJOLNIR armor up close—most line troops had never even seen a Spartan. The ghostly iridescent green of the armor plates and the matte black layers underneath made him look part gladiator, part machine. Or perhaps to the bridge crew, he looked as alien as the Covenant.
The view screens showed stars and Jerico VII’s four silver moons. At extreme range, a small
constellation of stars drifted closer. The Captain waved the Chief closer as he stared at that cluster of stars—the rest of the battlegroup. “It’s happening again.”
“Request permission to remain on the bridge, sir,” the Chief said. “I . . . want to see it this time, sir.” The Captain hung his head, looking weary. He glanced at the Master Chief with haunted eyes. “Very well, Chief. After all you’ve been through to save Jericho Seven, we owe you that. We’re only thirty
million kilometers out-system, though, not half as far as I’d like to be.” He turned to the NAV Officer. “Bearing one two zero. Prepare our exit vector.” He turned to face the Chief. “We’ll stay to watch . . . but if those bastards so much as twitch in our
direction, we’re jumping