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164
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
holster, trying to free his weapon. John planted two narq-darts in
his chest. The Corporal dropped.
Two more guards rounded the corner of the warehouse,
shouted, and took aim at John.
He was out in the open, and there was no way his dart pistol
could hit those guards from this distance.
One guard fired. The round pinged off the flagpole not five
centimeters from John's head.
The guard stiffened and dropped his rifle, wildly grabbing at
the back of his head ... and the dart stuck into his skull. He
screamed and fell, thrashing in the dirt.
The other guard twitched and pulled a dart from his thigh. An-
other dart hit him in the chest, and he sprawled to the ground.
John sent his silent thanks to Linda and Fred. He detached
the flag from the lanyard and stuffed it into his shirt.
He waved Red Team forward, and Kelly led them to the
fences.
Kelly didn't slow down as she sprinted and closed on the
chain-link fence. She tucked and threw herself into the steel mesh.
Just before she hit, John spotted the smoking outlines on the
fence where she had applied the battery acid.
The fence broke in a jagged outline, and Kelly rolled to her
feet on the other side without missing a stride. John waved his
team through. He went last, pausing only a fraction of a second
to look back.
The camp was in chaos. Security lights swung about, there
were screams from the barracks. A tank rumbled to life and
crunched into the center of the base.
John ran. Behind them came the staccato report of
machine-gun fire—just as they entered the safety of the forest.
John smiled, panting. "Good work, everyone," he whispered.
"I think those guys were using live ammo this time."
Kelly held up a brass case from a 7.62mm round. "Yep," she
said. "No doubt."
"Come on," John said, "let's not stick around. If they weren't
before, they're pissed now."
Red Team slinked through the forest. They kept to the shad-
ows, and took cover under logs when a Pelican roared overhead
looking for them.