Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [73]
They moved cautiously. Every hundred yards, James signaled the group to halt while he methodically surveyed the area for any sign of the enemy. The rest of Blue Team crouched, and disappeared into the thick jungle foliage.
John checked his HUD; they were one-quarter of the way to the city. The team made good time despite the cautious pace. The MJOLNIR assault armor allowed them to push their way through the thick jungle like it was a stroll through the woods.
As the team moved on, the thin mist that permeated the jungle gave way to a hard, pelting rain. The damp ground gradually turned to mud, forcing the team to slow.
Blue-Four stopped dead and raised his fist—the signal to halt and freeze. John stopped in his tracks, his rifle raised and sweeping slowly back and forth, searching for any sign of enemy movement.
Normally, the Spartans relied on their armor’s detection gear to locate enemy troops. But their motion sensors were useless—everything moved in the jungle. They had to rely on their eyes and ears and the instincts of their point man.
“Point to Team Leader: enemy contact.”James’ calm voice crackled across the COM channel.“Enemy troops within one hundred meters of my position, ten degrees left.”
With exaggerated slowness, Blue-Four indicated the danger area by pointing.
“Affirmative,” John replied. “Blue Team: hold position.”
Although the motion trackers were of no use here, thermal proved effective. Through the thick sheets of rain, the Master Chief spotted three cold spots: Grunts in their chilled environmental suits.
“Blue Team: enemy contact confirmed.” He added the enemy position to his HUD. “Estimated enemy strength, Point?”
“Lead, I make ten, say again, ten Covenant troops. Grunts, sir. They’re moving slowly. Double-file formation. They haven’t spotted us. Orders?”
John’s orders said to minimize contact with the enemy where possible—the Spartans were spread too thinly across the battle area to risk a prolonged engagement. But the Grunts were heading right for the Marine bunker . . .
“Let’s take them out, Blue Team,” he said.
The team of Grunts slogged through the mud. The vaguely simian aliens wore shiny red-trimmed armor. Craggy, purple-black hide was visible beneath the environmental suits. Breath masks provided supercooled methane—the aliens’ atmosphere. There were ten of them, moving in two columns and spaced roughly three meters apart.
John noted with satisfaction that they seemed bored—only the point man and the pair on rear guard had their plasma rifles at the ready. The rest chattered at each other in a weird combination of high-pitched squeaks and guttural barks.
Easy, relaxed targets. Perfect.
He gave a series of slow hand signals to the rest of the team; they faded back until they were well away from the Grunts’ field of view.
The Master Chief opened the squadwide COM channel. “They’re seventy meters from this depression —” He keyed a NAV point into the team’s topographic display. “They’re heading for the western hill and will probably follow the terrain to the top. We’ll fall back now, and take concealed positions along the eastern hill.
“Blue-Four, you’re our scout—stay near the bottom and let us know when the rear guard passes you. Take them out first—they seem alert.
“Blue-Two, you have overwatch at the top of the hill.
“Blue-Three, back me up. Silenced weapons only—no explosives, unless things go bad.” He paused, then gave the order: “Move out.” The Spartans crept back along their path and spread out along the hill. John—in the center of the line—readied his assault rifle. The team was virtually invisible in the thick
foliage, and covered by the barrelwide tree trunks of the local flora. One minute ticked by. Then two . . . three . . . Blue-Four’s acknowledgment signal blinked twice in John’s HUD.Enemy detected. He relaxed his grip
on the weapon, waiting— —There. Twenty meters