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ERIC NYLUND
31
It was a sea of flame. Hundreds of fires dotted the cracked,
glassy ground. Where the Big Horn River had snaked along,
there was now only a long steaming furrow. There was no trace
of the cruiser or the Covenant troops that had filled the valley
moments ago. All that remained was a field of smoldering,
twisted bone and metal. At the edge of this carnage stood black-
ened sticks—the remnants of the forest—all leaning away from
the center of the explosion.
Ten thousand Covenant deaths. It wasn't worth losing Joshua
or any of the other Spartans, but it was something. Perhaps they
had bought enough time for the orbital MAC guns to tip the battle
overhead in the Fleet's favor. Maybe their sacrifices would save
Reach. That would be worth it.
He looked up into the sky. The steam made it difficult to see
anything, but there was motion overhead: Faint shadows glided
over the clouds.
Kelly's Banshee appeared alongside his, and their canards
bumped.
The shadows overhead sharpened; three Covenant cruisers
broke through the clouds and drifted toward the generator com-
plex. Their plasma artillery flickered and glowed with energy.
Fred snapped open his COM channel and boosted the signal
strength to its maximum. "Delta Team: Fall back. Fall back
now!"
Static hissed over the channel, and several voices overlapped.
He heard one of his Spartans—he couldn't tell who—break
through the static.
"Reactor complex seven has been compromised. We're falling
back. Might be able to save number three." There was a pause as
the speaker shouted orders to someone else: "Set off those
charges now!"
Fred switched to FLEETCOM and broadcast: "Be advised,
Pillar of Autumn, groundside reactors are being taken. Orbital
guns at risk. Nothing we can do. Too many. We'll have to use the
nukes. Be advised, orbital MAC guns will most likely be neu-
tralized. Pillar of Autumn, do you read? Acknowledge."
More voices crowded the channel, and Fred thought he heard
Admiral Whitcomb's voice, but whatever orders he issued were