The Flood h-2

by William Corey Dietz

  It was good advice, the kind that made a difference, and while it didn’t erase McKay’s fears, it certainly served to ease them.

  Master Sergeant Lister and Second Lieutenant Oros seemed to materialize out of the darkness. Oros had a small, pixie-like face which belied her innate toughness. If anything happened to McKay, Oros would take over, and if she bought the farm Lister would step in. The battalion had been short of officers before the shit hit the fan, and what with Lieutenant Dalu off playing Supply Officer, McKay was one Platoon Leader short of a full load. That’s why Lister had been called upon to fill the hole.

  “Platoons one and two are ready to go,” Oros reported cheerfully. “Let us at ’em!”

  “You just want to raid the ship’s commissary,” McKay said, referring to the Platoon Leader’s well-known addiction to chocolate.

  “No, ma’am,” Oros replied innocently, “the Lieutenant lives only to serve the needs of humanity, the Marine Corps, and the Company Commander.”

  Even the normally stone-faced Lister had to laugh at that, and McKay felt her own spirits lift as well. “Okay, Lieutenant Oros, the human race would be grateful if you would put a couple of your best people on point and lead this outfit to the ship. I’ll ride your six with Sergeant Lister and the second platoon walking drag. Are you okay with that?”

  Both Platoon Leaders nodded and melted into the night. McKay looked for the tail end of the first platoon, slid into line, and let her mind roam ahead. Somewhere, about one kilometer ahead, the Pillar of Autumn lay sprawled on the ground. The Covenant owned the ship for the moment – but McKay was determined to take her back.

  It was time to get off the Truth and Reconciliation. As Covenant troops ran hither and yon, the recently freed Marines armed themselves with alien weapons, then linked up with the rest of the rescue team. Keyes and Cortana convened a quick council of war. “While the Covenant had us locked up in here, I heard them talking about the ring world,” Keyes said, “and its destructive capabilities.”

  “One moment, sir,” Cortana interrupted, “I’m accessing the Covenant battle net.” She paused, as her vastly powerful intrusion protocols sifted through the Covenant systems. Information systems seemed to be the one field where human technologies held their own against those of the Covenant.

  Seconds later, she finished her sift of the alien data stream. “If I’m interpreting the data correctly, they believe Halo is some kind of weapon, one that possesses vast, unimaginable power.”

  Keyes nodded thoughtfully. “The aliens who interrogated me kept saying that ‘whoever controls Halo controls the fate of the universe.’”

  “Now I see,” Cortana put in thoughtfully. “I intercepted a number of messages about a Covenant search team scouting for a control room. I thought they were looking for the bridge of the ship I damaged during the battle above the ring – but they must be looking for Halo’s control room.”

  “That’s bad news,” Keyes responded gravely. “If Halo is a weapon, and the Covenant gains control of it, they’ll use it against us. Who knows what power that would give them?

  “Chief, Cortana, I have a new mission for you. We need to beat the Covenant to Halo’s control room.”

  “No offense, sir,” the Master Chief replied, “but it might be best to finish this mission before we tackle another one.”

  Keyes offered a tired grin. “Good point, Chief. Marines! Let’s move!”

  “We should head back to the shuttle bay and call for evac,” Cortana said, “unless you’d like to walk home.”

  “No thanks,” Keyes said. “I’m Navy – we prefer to ride.”

  The journey out of the detention area and back to the launch bay was hairy but not quite as bad as the trip in. It wasn’t long before they all realized that they really could follow the trail of dead bodies back to the launch bay. Sadly, some of the dead wore Marine green, which served to remind the Chief of how many humans the Covenant had murdered since the war had begun more than twenty-five years before. Somehow, in some way, the Covenant would be made to pay.

  The tactical situation was made even more risky by the Captain’s condition. He didn’t complain, but the Spartan could tell that Keyes was sore and weak from the Covenant interrogation. It was a struggle for him to keep up with the others.

  The Master Chief signaled for the team to halt. Keyes – out of breath – favored him with a sour look, but seemed grateful for the breather.

  Two minutes later, the Chief was about to signal the group to move forward when a trio of Grunts scuttled into view. Needler rounds bounced from the bulkhead and angled right for him.

  His shields took the brunt of it, and he returned fire, as did the rest of the group. Keyes blew one Grunt apart with a barrage of the explosive glassy needles. The rest were finished off by a combination of plasma rifle fire and the Chief’s assault rifle.

  “Let’s get moving,” the Spartan advised. He took point and moved down the corridor, bent low and ready for trouble. He’d barely gotten twenty meters down the passageway when more Covenant moved in – two Jackals and an Elite.

  The enemy was getting closer, and more determined, the longer they remained. He finished off the Jackals with his last frag grenade, then pinned the Elite down with assault rifle fire. Keyes directed the Marines to fire on the alien’s flank, and he went down.

  “We need to go, sir,” the Chief warned Keyes. “With respect, we’re moving too slowly.”

  Keyes nodded, and as a group they sprinted down the twisting passages, stealth abandoned. Finally, after numerous twists and turns, they reached the shuttle bay. The Spartan thought it was empty at first, until he noticed what appeared to be two light wands, floating in midair.

  Fresh from his encounter with the stealth Elite who had been stationed in the brig, the Master Chief knew better than to take chances. He drew his pistol, linked in the scope, and took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger several times and put half a clip into the area just to the right of the energy blade. A Covenant warrior faded into view and toppled off the platform.

  A Marine yelled, “Watch it!” and “Cover the Captain!” as the second blade sliced the air into geometric shapes, and started to advance as if on its own. The Spartan put three quick bursts into the second alien, hit his stealth generator, and the Elite was revealed. Fire poured in from all sides and the warrior went down.

  There was a blast of static as Cortana activated the MJOLNIR’s communication relays. “Cortana to Echo 419... We have the Captain and need extraction on the double.”

  The reply was nearly instantaneous. “Negative, Cortana! I have a flock of Banshees on my tail... and I can’t seem to shake them. You’ll be better off finding your own ride.”

  “Acknowledged, Foehammer. Cortana out.” The radio clicked as Cortana switched from the suit’s radio to its external speakers.

  “Air support is cut off, Captain. We’ll need to hold here until Foehammer can move in.”

  A Marine heard the interchange and, already traumatized by the time spent as a Covenant prisoner, began to lose it. “We’re trapped! We’re all gonna die!”

  “Stow the bellyaching, soldier,” Keyes growled. “Cortana, if you and the Chief can get us into one of those Covenant dropships, I can fly us out of here.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the AI replied. “There’s a Covenant ship docked below.”

  The Master Chief saw the nav indicator appear on his HUD, followed the arrow through a hatch, down a series of corridors, and out into the troopship bay.

  Unfortunately, the bay was well defended, and another firefight broke out. The situation was getting worse. The Chief slammed his last full clip into the MA5B and fired short, controlled bursts. Grunts and Jackals scattered and returned fire.

  The ammo counter dropped rapidly. A pair of Grunts fell under the Spartan’s hail of fire. Within seconds, the ammo counter read 00 – empty.

  He tossed the rifle away and drew his pistol, and continued firing at the alien forces that had begun t
o regroup at the far side of the bay. “If we’re going,” he called out, “we need to go now.”

  The dropship was shaped like a giant U. It rode a grav field and bobbed slightly as some of the outside air swirled around it. As they approached it, Keyes said, “Everybody mount up! Let’s get on board!” and led the Marines through an open hatch.

  The Spartan waited until everyone else had boarded and backed into the aircraft – just in time. He was down to a single round in his sidearm.

  Cortana said, “Give me a minute to interface with the ship’s controls.”

  Keyes shook his head. “No need. I’ll take this bird up myself.”

  “Captain!” one of the Marines called. “Hunters!”

  The Master Chief peered out through the nearest viewport and saw that the private was correct. Another pair of the massive aliens had arrived on the loading platform and were making for the ship. Their spines stood straight up, their fuel rod guns were swinging into position, and they were about to fire.

  “Hang on!” Keyes said as he disengaged the ship’s gravity locks, brought the ship up over the edge of the platform, and pushed one of two joysticks forward. The twin hulls straddled a column, struck both Hunters with what appeared to be glancing blows, and withdrew.

  Even a glancing blow from a ship that weighs thousands of kilos proved to be a serious thing indeed. The dropship’s hull crushed the Hunters’ chest armor and forced it through their body cavities, killing both of them instantly. One corpse somehow managed to attach itself to one of the twin bows. It fell as the dropship cleared the Truth and Reconciliation’s hull.

  The Master Chief leaned back against the metal wall. The Covenant craft’s troop bay was cramped, uncomfortable, and dimly lit – but it beat hell out of wandering through one of their cruisers.

  He braced himself as Keyes put the alien aircraft into a tight turn, and accelerated out into the surrounding darkness. He forced his shoulders to relax, and closed his eyes. The Captain had been rescued, and the Covenant had been put on notice: The humans were determined to be more than an annoyance – they were going to be a major pain in the ass.

  Dawn had just started to break when Zuka ’Zamamee and Yayap passed through the newly reinforced perimeter that surrounded the gravity lift, and were forced to wait while a crew of hardworking Grunts pulled a load of Covenant dead off the blood-splattered pad, before they could step onto the sticky surface and be pulled up into the ship.

  Although the Truth and Reconciliation’s commanding officer believed that all of the surviving humans had left the ship, there was no way to be certain of that without a compartment-by-compartment check. The shipboard sensors read clear, but this raid had demonstrated beyond a doubt that the humans had learned how to trick Covenant detection gear.

  The visitors could feel the tension as teams of grim-faced Elites, Jackals, and Grunts performed a deck-by-deck search of the ship.

  As the pair made their way through the corridors to the lift that would carry them up to the command deck, ’Zamamee was shocked by the extent of the damage that he saw. Yes, there were long stretches of passageway that were completely untouched, but every now and then they would pass through a gore-streaked section of corridor, where bullet-pocked bulkheads, plasma-scorched decks, and half-slagged hatches told of a hard-fought running gun battle.

  ’Zamamee stared in wonder as a grav cart loaded with mangled Jackals was towed past, blood dripping onto the deck behind it.

  Finally, they made their way to the appropriate lift, and stepped out onto the command deck. The Elite expected the same level of security scrutiny as the last time he addressed the Prophet and the Council of Masters; no doubt he’d be dumped into the holding room for another interminable wait.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth. No sooner did ’Zamamee clear security than he and Yayap were whisked into the compartment where the Council of Masters had been convened during his last visit.

  There was no sign of the Prophet, or any of ’Zamamee’s immediate superiors – but the hardworking Soha ’Rolamee was there, along with a staff of lesser Elites. There was no mistaking the crisis atmosphere as reports flowed in, were evaluated, and used to create a variety of action plans. ’Rolamee saw ’Zamamee and raised his hand by way of a greeting.

  “Welcome. Please sit.”

  ’Zamamee complied. It didn’t occur to either one of the Elites to offer the same courtesy to Yayap, who continued to stand. The diminutive Grunt rocked back and forth, ill at ease.

  “So,” ’Rolamee inquired, “how much have you heard about the latest... ‘incursion’?”

  “Not much,” ’Zamamee was forced to admit. “The humans managed to board the ship via the gravity lift. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

  “That’s correct in so far as it goes,” ’Rolamee agreed. “There is more. The ship’s security system recorded quite a bit of the action. Take a look at this.”

  The Elite touched a button and moving images popped into view and hovered in the air nearby. ’Zamamee found himself looking at two Grunts and a Jackal standing in a corridor. Suddenly, without warning, the same human he had encountered on the Pillar of Autumn – the large one with the unusual armor – stepped around the corner, spotted the Covenant troops, and opened fire on them.

  The Grunts went down quickly, but the Jackal scored a hit, and ’Zamamee saw plasma splash the front of the human’s armor.

  However, rather than fall as he should have, the apparition shot the Jackal in the head, stepped over one of the dead Grunts, and marched toward the camera. The image froze as ’Rolamee touched another control. ’Zamamee felt an almost unbelievable tightness in his chest. Would he have the courage to face the human again? He wasn’t sure – and that frightened him as well.

  “So,” ’Rolamee said, “there he is, the very human you warned us about. A dangerous individual who is largely responsible for the six-score casualties inflicted during this raid alone, not to mention the loss of a valuable prisoner, and six Shades which the enemy managed to steal.”

  “And the humans?” ’Zamamee inquired. “How many of them were our warriors able to kill?”

  “The body count is incomplete,” the other Elite replied, “but the preliminary total is thirty-six.”

  ’Zamamee was shocked. The numbers should have been reversed. Would have been reversed had it not been for the alien in the special armor.

  “You will be pleased to learn that your original request has now been approved,” ’Rolamee continued. “We have preliminary reports from other strike groups that most of these unusual humans were killed in the last large engagement. This one is believed to be the last of his kind. Take whatever resources you need, find the human, and kill him. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, Excellency,” ’Zamamee said as he stood to leave. “None at all.”

  SECTION III

  THE SILENT CARTOGRAPHER

  CHAPTER FIVE

  D+128:15:25 (Lieutenant McKay Mission Clock)

  On the plain surrounding The Pillar of Autumn

  The rain stopped just before dawn – not gradually but all at once, as if someone had flipped a switch. The clouds melted away, the first rays of the sun appeared, and darkness surrendered to light.

  Slowly, as if to reveal something precious, the golden glow slid across the plain to illuminate the Pillar of Autumn, which lay like an abandoned scepter, her bow hanging out over the edge of a steep precipice.

  She was huge, so huge that the Covenant had assigned two Banshees to fly cover over her, and a squad of six Ghosts patrolled the area immediately around the fallen cruiser’s hull. However, from the listless manner with which the enemy soldiers went about their duties, McKay could tell they were unaware of the threat that had crept up on them during the hours of rain-filled darkness.

  Back on Earth, before the invention of the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine, and the subsequent efforts to colonize other star systems, human soldiers had frequently staged attac
ks at dawn, when there was more light to see by, and the enemy sentries were likely to be tired and sleepy. In order to counter, the more sophisticated armies soon developed the tradition of an early morning “stand-to,” when every soldier went to barricades in case the enemy chose that particular morning to attack.

  Did the Covenant have a similar tradition, McKay wondered? Or were they dozing a bit, relieved that the long period of darkness was finally over, their fears eased by the first rays of the sun? The officer would soon find out.

  Like all sixty-two members of her Company, the Helljumper was concealed just beyond the border of the roughly U-shaped area that the Covenant actively patrolled. And now, with daylight only minutes away, the time had arrived either to commit herself or to withdraw.

  McKay took one last look around. Her arm ached, and her bladder was full, but everything else was A-okay. She keyed the radio and gave the order that both platoons had been waiting for. “Red One to Blue One and Green One... Proceed to objective. Over.”

  The response came so quickly that McKay missed whatever acknowledgments the two Platoon leaders might have sent. The key was to neutralize the Banshees and the Ghosts so quickly, so decisively, that the ODST troopers would be able to cross the long stretch of open ground and reach the Autumn virtually unopposed. That’s why no fewer than three of the powerful M19 rocket launchers were aimed at each Banshee – and three Marines had been assigned to each of the half dozen target Ghosts.

  Two of the four rockets fired at the Covenant aircraft missed their marks, but both Banshees took hits, and immediately exploded. Wreckage rained on the Covenant position.

  The Ghost drivers on both sides of the ship were still looking upward, trying to figure out what had occurred, when more than two dozen assault weapons opened up on them.

  Four of the rapid attack vehicles were destroyed within the first few seconds of the battle. The fifth, piloted by a mortally wounded Elite, described a number of large overlapping circles before crashing into the cruiser’s hull and finally putting the driver out of his misery. The Elite behind the controls of the sixth and last Ghost panicked, backed away from the wholesale destruction, and toppled over the edge of the precipice.