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ERIC NYLUND
115
Fred keyed his COM. "Delta, if you're listening, we're com-
ing in from south-southeast in a pair of captured Wraith tanks.
You'll know which ones from the fireworks. Keep your heads
down and don't shoot us."
He keyed over to Kelly's personal COM. "Blaze a trail,
Red-Two! Kill everything and get to that entrance ASAP!"
"I'm on it," she whispered, her voice thick with concentration.
A blue acknowledgment light flickered on .. . but it wasn't
Kelly's. It was tagged as SPARTAN-039, Isaac. That was part of
Will's team.
So they were holed up at the fallback position. Relief flooded
into him to know his team was here and still alive.
But he couldn't hope—not yet. He had three hundred meters
to cross, every millimeter of which was covered with a solid
wall of Covenant Grunts, Jackals, and Elites—a path straight
through hell.
Kelly rotated her tank about and fired at the remaining
Wraiths and the cluster of Grunts trying to put out the fires near
those she'd already destroyed. For a split second the ground
was the surface of a sun; it flared, faded, and then was nothing
but ash.
Fred fired his mortar—as fast as the tank's power supply
would cycle. He lobbed three silver-white projectiles at the con-
centration of Elites and plasma turrets. They had shields that
protected them for a microsecond before they overloaded and
collapsed. They flared like the "strike-anywhere" matches the
ODSTs used to light their contraband cigarettes.
Kelly shot arcing projectiles into the hundreds of Grunts and
Jackals running in every direction. Bodies charred midstride
and turned to vapor. It was as if a dozen lightning bolts had
struck in the center of the camp.
Grunts ran and ducked and shot at one another. The few Jackals
tried to marshal the diminutive soldiers, but the Grunts, enraged
or terrified, fired on them as well.
Fred caught motion in the corner of his eye—a shadow
buzzed over his tank, and a blast rocked it from side to side.
That had to be Banshees. It made sense that they'd already
have Elites in the air, on patrol. He cursed himself for not spotting
them before. It was only a matter of time now. Without infantry