“That’s why I ordered Cortana and the Master Chief to find the so-called Control Room to which the aliens have alluded, and see if there’s a way to block the Covenant’s plan.”
Silva placed his forearms on the top of the wall that fronted the rampart and looked out over the plain. If one knew where to look, and had a good eye, he could see the blast-scarred ground where the Ghosts had attacked, the Helljumpers had held, and some of his Marines lay buried.
“I see what you mean, sir. Permission to speak freely?”
Keyes looked at Silva, then back to the view. “Of course. You’re second in command here, and obviously you know your way around ground engagements far better than I do. If you have ideas, suggestions, or concerns, I want to hear them.”
Silva nodded respectfully. “Thank you, sir. My question has to do with the Spartan. Like everyone else, I have nothing but respect for the Chief’s record. However, is he the right person for the mission you have in mind? Come to think of it, is anyone person right for that kind of operation?
“I know that the Master Chief has an augmented body,” Silva continued, “not to mention the advantage that the armor gives him, but take a look around. This base, these defenses, were the work of normal human beings.
“The Spartan program is a failure, Captain – the fact that the Chief is the only one left proves that, so let’s put your mission into the hands of some real honest-to-god Marines and let them earn their pay.
“Thanks for hearing me out.”
Keyes had been in the Navy for a long time. He knew Silva was ambitious, not only for himself, but for the ODST branch of the Marine Corps. He also knew that Silva was brave, well-intentioned, and in this case, flat-outwrong. But how to tell him that? He needed Silva’s enthusiastic support if any of them were going to make it out of this mess alive.
The Captain considered Silva’s words, then nodded. “You make some valid points. What you and your ‘honest-to-god’ Marines have accomplished on this butte is nothing short of miraculous.
“However, I can’t agree with your conclusions regarding the Chief or the Spartan program. First, it’s important to understand that what makes the Chief so effective isn’t what he is, but who he is. His record is not the result of technology – not because of what they’ve done to him but in spite of what they’ve done to him, and the pain he has suffered.
“The truth is that the Chief would have grown up to be a remarkable individual regardless of what the government did or didn’t do to him. Do I think children should be snatched away from their families? Raised by the military? Surgically altered? No, I don’t, not during normal times.”
He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Major, one of my first assignments was to escort the Spartan’s project leader during the selection process for the II-series candidates. At the time, I didn’t know the full scope of the operation – and I probably would have resigned had I known.
“These aren’t normal times. We’re talking about the very real possibility of total extinction, Major. How many people did we lose in the Outer Colonies? How many did the Covenant kill on Jerico VII? On Reach? How many will be glassed if they locate Earth?”
It was a rhetorical question. The Marine shook his head. “I don’t know, sir, but I do know this. More than twenty-five years ago, when I was a second lieutenant, the people who invented the Chief thought it would be fun to test their new pet weapon on some real meat. They engineered a situation in which four of my Marines would run into your friend, take offense at something he did, and try to teach him a lesson.
“Well, guess what? The plan worked perfectly. The plan sucked my people in, and the freak not only kicked the hell out of them, he left two of them dead – beaten to death in a goddamned ship’s gymnasium. I don’t know what you call that, sir, but I call it murder. Were there repercussions? Hell, no. The windup toy got a pat on the head and a ticket to the showers. It was all in a day’s bloody work.”
Keyes looked bleak. “For whatever it’s worth I’m truly sorry about what happened to your men, Major, but here’s the truth: Maybe it isn’t nice – hell, maybe it isn’t even right – but if I could get my hands on a million Chiefs I’d take every single one of them. As for this particular mission, yes, I believe it’s possible that your people could get the job done, and if that’s all we had, I wouldn’t hesitate to send them in. But the Chief has a number of distinct advantages, not the least of which is Cortana, and by taking this task on he will free your Helljumpers to handle other things. Lord knows there’s plenty to do. My decision stands.”
Silva nodded stiffly. “Sir, yes sir. My people will do everything they can to support both the Chief and Cortana.”
“Yes,” Keyes said, as he gazed up into the gently curving ring, “I’m sure they will.”
The normally dark room was bright with artificial light. Zuka ’Zamamee had studied the raid on the Truth and Reconciliation, taken note of the manner in which the human AI had accessed the Covenant battle net, and analyzed the nature of the electronic intrusions to see what the entity seemed most interested in.
Then, based on that analysis, he had constructed projections of what the humans would do next. Not all of the humans, since that lay outside the parameters of his mission, but the one person in whom he was truly interested. An individual who appeared to be part of a specialized, elite group similar to his own, and would almost certainly be sent to follow up on what the humans had learned.
Now, in the room that led directly into the Security Control Center, ’Zamamee laid a trap. The armored human would come, he felt sure of that, and once inside the snare, the human would meet his end. The thought cheered ’Zamamee immensely and he hummed a battle hymn as he worked.
There was a flash, followed by a loud bang! as the fragmentation grenade went off. A Jackal screamed, an assault weapon stuttered, and a Marine yelled, “Let me know if you want some more!”
“Good work!” McKay exclaimed. “That’s the last of them. Close the hatch, lock it, and post a fire team here to make sure they don’t cut their way out. The Covenant is welcome to the upper decks. What we need is down here.”
The battle had been raging for hours by then as McKay and her Marines fought to push the remaining enemy forces out of key portions of the Autumn and into the sections of the ship that weren’t mission-critical.
As the Helljumpers sealed the last interdeck ladder not already secured, they had what they’d been striving for: free and unfettered access to the ship’s main magazine, cargo holds, and vehicle bays.
In fact, even as the second platoon pushed the last of the aliens out of the lower decks, the first platoon, under the leadership of Lieutenant Oros, had begun the important task of hitching trailers to the fleet of Warthogs stowed in the Autumn’s belly and loading them with food, ammo, and the long list McKay had brought with her of other supplies. Then, once each ’Hog-trailer combo was ready, the Marines drove them down makeshift ramps onto the hardpan below.
Once outside, and positioned laager style, the combined power of the LRV-mounted M41 light antiaircraft guns formed a potent defense against possible attack by Covenant dropships, Banshees, and Ghosts. It wouldn’t hold out forever, but it would do the most important job: It would buy them time.