Adding to the supply column’s already formidable firepower were four M808B Scorpion Main Battle Tanks, or MBTs, which rumbled down off the ramps, and threw dirt rooster tails up off their powerful treads as they growled into position within the screen established by the Warthogs.
The MBTs’ ceramic-titanium armor provided them with excellent protection against small arms fire – although the vehicles were vulnerable should the aliens manage to get in close. That’s why provision had been made for up to four Marines to ride on top of each Scorpion’s track pods.
Now, free to withdraw from the grounded cruiser and supervise final loading, McKay left Lister in charge of keeping the aliens penned up.
As she exited the ship, McKay caught sight of two heavily-loaded Pelicans flying off in the general direction of the butte, each with a ’Hog clutched beneath its belly. And there, arrayed on the hardpan in front of her, twenty-six Warthog-trailer combinations sat ready to roll, with still more coming off the ship.
Their only problem was personnel. As a result of the work only fifty-two effectives remained, which meant that the stripped-down infantry company would be hard-pressed to crew thirty-four vehicles and fight, should that become necessary. Both McKay and her noncoms would all play a role as drivers or gunners during the return trip.
Oros saw the Company Commander emerge from the Autumn’s hull. The Platoon Leader was caged inside one of the loader-type exoskeletons taken from the ship. Servos whined in sympathy with her movements as she crossed the intervening stretch of wheel-churned dirt to the point where McKay waited with hands on hips. Grime covered her face and her body armor was charred where a plasma pulse had hit. “You look good in orange.”
Oros grinned. “Thanks, boss. Did you see the Pelicans?”
“As a matter of fact I did. They looked a bit overloaded.”
“Yeah, the pilots were starting to whine about weight, but I bribed them with a couple of candy bars. They’ll be back in about forty-five minutes. When they do we’ll wrestle fuel bladders into the cargo compartments, fill them from the ship, and top their tanks all at the same time. Then, just to make sure we get our money’s worth, we’ll hook a 50mm MLA autocannon under each fuselage and take those out as well.”
McKay raised both eyebrows. “Autocannons? Where did you get those?”
“They were part of the Autumn’s armament,” the other officer answered cheerfully. “I thought it would be fun to spot the occasional Covenant dropship from the top of the mesa.”
He paused then added, “That’s the good news.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“A lot of gear didn’t survive the crash. No missile or rocket pods for the Pelicans, and we’re almost bone dry on 70mm for their chin guns. We can’t count on air support for much more than bus rides.”
“Damn.” She scowled. Without well-armed air support, Alpha Base was going to be a lot tougher to defend.
“Affirmative,” Oros agreed. “Oh, and I ordered the pilots to bring fifteen additional bodies on the return trip. Clerks, medics, anybody who can drive or fire an M41. That would allow me to squeeze some additional ’Hogs into the column and put at least two people on each tank.”
McKay raised an eyebrow. “You ‘ordered’ them to bring more bodies?”
“Well, I kind of let them believe that you whistled them up.”
McKay shook her head. “You are amazing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Oros replied shamelessly. “Semper Fi.”
The Pelicans swept over the glittering sea, passed over a line of gently breaking surf, and flew parallel with the beach. Foehammer saw a construct up ahead, a headland beyond, and a whole lot of Covenant troops running around in response to the sudden and unexpected arrival of two UNSC dropships. Rawley fought the urge to trigger the Pelican’s 70mm chin gun. She’d expended the last of her ammo on the last pass – had watched geysers of sand chase an Elite up the beach, and was rewarded by the sight of the alien disappearing in a cloud of his own blood – and it didn’t look like more were coming anytime soon.
She keyed open a master channel. “The LZ is hot, repeat, hot,” Foehammer emphasized. “Five to dirt.”
The Master Chief stood next to the open hatch, and waited for Foehammer’s signaclass="underline" “Touchdown! Hit it, Marines!”
He was among the first to step off the ramp, his boots leaving deep impressions in the soft sand.
He paused for a quick look around, then started down-spin to the point where the aliens waited. No sooner had the last member of the landing party disembarked than the Pelicans were airborne once more – and flying up-spin.
Plasma fire stuttered down from the top of a rise as the Marines advanced up the sandy slope, careful to fire staggered bursts, so the entire group didn’t wind up reloading at the same time. The Spartan ran forward, added his fire to the rest, and sent an Elite sprawling to the ground. The Covenant forces were outnumbered for once and the human attackers wasted little time cutting them down. The whole fight lasted only ten minutes.
Time to get moving. He reviewed the mission objectives as he surveyed the LZ: find and secure a Covenant-held facility, some kind of map room – which the enemy had already captured.
The Covenant called the site “the Silent Cartographer” – which could presumably pinpoint the location of Halo’s control room. Keyes had been very adamant about the urgency of the mission. “If the Covenant figure out how to turn Halo into a weapon, we’re cooked.”
Maybe, with Cortana’s help, they had a good chance of figuring out where the hell the ring’s control systems were housed. All they had to do is take it away from an entrenched enemy.
The Spartan heard a burst of static followed by Foehammer’s cheerful voice as her Pelican swooped back into the LZ area. “Echo 419 inbound. Did someone order a Warthog?”
A Marine said, “I didn’t know that you made house calls, Foehammer.”
The pilot chuckled. “You know our motto: ‘we deliver.’”
The Master Chief waited for the dropship to deposit the LRV on the beach, saw two Marines jump on board, and climbed up behind the wheel. The soldier riding shotgun nodded. “Ready when you are, Chief.”
The Spartan put his foot on the accelerator, sand shot out from under the vehicle’s tires, and the ’Hog left parallel tracks as it raced along the edge of the beach.
They rounded the headland in minutes, and entered the open area beyond. There was a scattering of trees, some weathered boulders, and a swath of green ground cover. “Firing!” the gunner called, and pulled his trigger. The petty officer saw Covenant troops scurry for cover, steered right to give the three-barreled weapon a better angle, and was soon rewarded with a batch of dead Grunts and a badly mangled Jackal.
The Spartan drove the Warthog uphill, turning to avoid obstacles, careful to maintain the vehicle’s traction. It wasn’t long before the humans neared the top of the slope and spotted the massive structure beyond. The top curved downward, cut dramatically in, and gave way to a flat area where a Covenant dropship had been docked.
It appeared that the aircraft had just finished loading: It backed out of a U-shaped slot, swung out toward the ocean, and quickly disappeared. The noise generated by its engines covered the sound made by the Warthog and provided the defenders with something to look at.
The gunner tracked the aircraft but knew better than to open fire and attract unwanted attention. The area beyond was crawling with Covenant troops. “Anyone else see what I see?” the second leatherneck inquired. “How are we supposed to get around that?”
The Master Chief killed the ’Hog’s engine, motioned for the Marines to remain where they were, and eased his way up to a point where a fallen log offered him some cover. He drew his pistol, took aim, and opened fire. Four Grunts and an Elite fell beneath the quick barrage of gunfire.