Unfortunately, the bay was well defended, and another firefight broke out. The situation was getting worse. The Chief slammed his last full clip into the MA5B and fired short, controlled bursts. Grunts and Jackals scattered and returned fire.
The ammo counter dropped rapidly. A pair of Grunts fell under the Spartan’s hail of fire. Within seconds, the ammo counter read 00 – empty.
He tossed the rifle away and drew his pistol, and continued firing at the alien forces that had begun to regroup at the far side of the bay. “If we’re going,” he called out, “we need to go now.”
The dropship was shaped like a giant U. It rode a grav field and bobbed slightly as some of the outside air swirled around it. As they approached it, Keyes said, “Everybody mount up! Let’s get on board!” and led the Marines through an open hatch.
The Spartan waited until everyone else had boarded and backed into the aircraft – just in time. He was down to a single round in his sidearm.
Cortana said, “Give me a minute to interface with the ship’s controls.”
Keyes shook his head. “No need. I’ll take this bird up myself.”
“Captain!” one of the Marines called. “Hunters!”
The Master Chief peered out through the nearest viewport and saw that the private was correct. Another pair of the massive aliens had arrived on the loading platform and were making for the ship. Their spines stood straight up, their fuel rod guns were swinging into position, and they were about to fire.
“Hang on!” Keyes said as he disengaged the ship’s gravity locks, brought the ship up over the edge of the platform, and pushed one of two joysticks forward. The twin hulls straddled a column, struck both Hunters with what appeared to be glancing blows, and withdrew.
Even a glancing blow from a ship that weighs thousands of kilos proved to be a serious thing indeed. The dropship’s hull crushed the Hunters’ chest armor and forced it through their body cavities, killing both of them instantly. One corpse somehow managed to attach itself to one of the twin bows. It fell as the dropship cleared the Truth and Reconciliation’s hull.
The Master Chief leaned back against the metal wall. The Covenant craft’s troop bay was cramped, uncomfortable, and dimly lit – but it beat hell out of wandering through one of their cruisers.
He braced himself as Keyes put the alien aircraft into a tight turn, and accelerated out into the surrounding darkness. He forced his shoulders to relax, and closed his eyes. The Captain had been rescued, and the Covenant had been put on notice: The humans were determined to be more than an annoyance – they were going to be a major pain in the ass.
Dawn had just started to break when Zuka ’Zamamee and Yayap passed through the newly reinforced perimeter that surrounded the gravity lift, and were forced to wait while a crew of hardworking Grunts pulled a load of Covenant dead off the blood-splattered pad, before they could step onto the sticky surface and be pulled up into the ship.
Although the Truth and Reconciliation’s commanding officer believed that all of the surviving humans had left the ship, there was no way to be certain of that without a compartment-by-compartment check. The shipboard sensors read clear, but this raid had demonstrated beyond a doubt that the humans had learned how to trick Covenant detection gear.
The visitors could feel the tension as teams of grim-faced Elites, Jackals, and Grunts performed a deck-by-deck search of the ship.
As the pair made their way through the corridors to the lift that would carry them up to the command deck, ’Zamamee was shocked by the extent of the damage that he saw. Yes, there were long stretches of passageway that were completely untouched, but every now and then they would pass through a gore-streaked section of corridor, where bullet-pocked bulkheads, plasma-scorched decks, and half-slagged hatches told of a hard-fought running gun battle.
’Zamamee stared in wonder as a grav cart loaded with mangled Jackals was towed past, blood dripping onto the deck behind it.
Finally, they made their way to the appropriate lift, and stepped out onto the command deck. The Elite expected the same level of security scrutiny as the last time he addressed the Prophet and the Council of Masters; no doubt he’d be dumped into the holding room for another interminable wait.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. No sooner did ’Zamamee clear security than he and Yayap were whisked into the compartment where the Council of Masters had been convened during his last visit.
There was no sign of the Prophet, or any of ’Zamamee’s immediate superiors – but the hardworking Soha ’Rolamee was there, along with a staff of lesser Elites. There was no mistaking the crisis atmosphere as reports flowed in, were evaluated, and used to create a variety of action plans. ’Rolamee saw ’Zamamee and raised his hand by way of a greeting.
“Welcome. Please sit.”
’Zamamee complied. It didn’t occur to either one of the Elites to offer the same courtesy to Yayap, who continued to stand. The diminutive Grunt rocked back and forth, ill at ease.
“So,” ’Rolamee inquired, “how much have you heard about the latest... ‘incursion’?”
“Not much,” ’Zamamee was forced to admit. “The humans managed to board the ship via the gravity lift. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”
“That’s correct in so far as it goes,” ’Rolamee agreed. “There is more. The ship’s security system recorded quite a bit of the action. Take a look at this.”
The Elite touched a button and moving images popped into view and hovered in the air nearby. ’Zamamee found himself looking at two Grunts and a Jackal standing in a corridor. Suddenly, without warning, the same human he had encountered on the Pillar of Autumn – the large one with the unusual armor – stepped around the corner, spotted the Covenant troops, and opened fire on them.
The Grunts went down quickly, but the Jackal scored a hit, and ’Zamamee saw plasma splash the front of the human’s armor.
However, rather than fall as he should have, the apparition shot the Jackal in the head, stepped over one of the dead Grunts, and marched toward the camera. The image froze as ’Rolamee touched another control. ’Zamamee felt an almost unbelievable tightness in his chest. Would he have the courage to face the human again? He wasn’t sure – and that frightened him as well.
“So,” ’Rolamee said, “there he is, the very human you warned us about. A dangerous individual who is largely responsible for the six-score casualties inflicted during this raid alone, not to mention the loss of a valuable prisoner, and six Shades which the enemy managed to steal.”
“And the humans?” ’Zamamee inquired. “How many of them were our warriors able to kill?”
“The body count is incomplete,” the other Elite replied, “but the preliminary total is thirty-six.”
’Zamamee was shocked. The numbers should have been reversed. Would have been reversed had it not been for the alien in the special armor.
“You will be pleased to learn that your original request has now been approved,” ’Rolamee continued. “We have preliminary reports from other strike groups that most of these unusual humans were killed in the last large engagement. This one is believed to be the last of his kind. Take whatever resources you need, find the human, and kill him. Do you have any questions?”
“No, Excellency,” ’Zamamee said as he stood to leave. “None at all.”
SECTION III
THE SILENT CARTOGRAPHER
CHAPTER FIVE
D+128:15:25 (Lieutenant McKay Mission Clock)