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158
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
was twenty meters, and on impact it could drop a rhino in its
tracks.
Twenty meters wouldn't cut it for this mission, though, so
Fhajad had modified the 114mm APFSDS rounds from the
sniper rifles, removed their deadly armor-piercing tips, and re-
placed them with narq-dart capsules.
When Linda had test-fired the weapon, she promised John ac-
curacy to one hundred meters. The rounds would penetrate flesh,
but they couldn't kill anyone—not unless she hit the temple or
eyes.
"Okay," John said, "this is supposed to be a training exercise,
but this is the seventh time Chief Mendez has made us play with
Tango Company."
"They're getting pretty tired of losing," Fred remarked with a
wry smile.
"That's not a good thing," Linda told him and flipped a stray
strand of red hair out of her face. "They're not going to play fair.
You heard the sniper we captured. He said that this time their
Captain told them to win no matter what—even if they had to
bloody a few of us to do it."
John nodded. "So we'll return the favor and do whatever it
takes to win, too." He grabbed a twig and scratched a square in
the leaf-covered dirt. "I'll have command of Red Team: That's
me, Sam, Kelly, and Fhajad. Linda, you lead Blue Team."
"It's not 'Blue Team,' " Fred complained, and his face soured.
"It's just me. How come I have to stay and play sniper?" He
flexed his hands, and John could sense his pent-up eagerness to
get into close-range combat.
"Because you're our second-best shot," John told him. "And
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