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118
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
"Where's the rest of the team? And the Marines from Charlie
Company?" Fred asked.
"They didn't make it," Will replied, his voice flat. "We were
separated on the way here." He shook his head. "No contact
since then."
Fred was quiet a moment. He listed those three as MIA on his
team roster as well as the other Spartans on Will's team. The list
of Spartans he could account for had grown extremely short.
Fred felt his stomach twist. "Any word from Beta Team?"
"Negative. No contact, sir."
Fred clenched his teeth and marked Beta Team as MIA as well.
"Gamma Team?" Will asked.
"They're out there," Fred replied. "I heard them on the COM,
but I couldn't make out much. I warned them away from this
position."
"Good," Will whispered.
The hallway dead-ended in a vault door.
"The retinal and palm scanners are broken," Will explained.
"There's voice access, which we've tried, but there's no re-
sponse. This door must be a meter thick, so without cutting tools
or a hundred kilos of explosive we're stuck on this side."
"You spoke to the people on the other side?" Kelly asked.
"The channel is open," Will said. "But there's been no reply.
Everyone on the other side probably bugged out."
"Or maybe you're just not saying anything they want to hear,"
Kelly said. She whistled a six-note singsong tune.
Will nodded. "I didn't think of that."
The tune had been the Spartan's secret code from when they
were young and training on Reach. It was their
all-clear-it's-safe-to-come-out signal. No one but the Spartans
and a few very select outsiders knew of it. . . a few outsiders who
might be still here.
Kelly keyed the mic and whistled the tune. She released the
key and waited.
Two minutes ticked off Fred's mission clock. Too much time
sitting here, doing nothing, while the Covenant over their heads
were undoubtedly figuring out a way to dig them out and tear
them to pieces.