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“Request permission to remain on the bridge, sir,” the Chief said. “I . . . want to see it this time, sir.”
The Captain hung his head, looking weary. He glanced at the Master Chief with haunted eyes. “Verywell, Chief. After all you’ve been through to save Jericho Seven, we owe you that. We’re only thirtymillion kilometers out-system, though, not half as far as I’d like to be.” He turned to the NAV Officer.“Bearing one two zero. Prepare our exit vector.”
He turned to face the Chief. “We’ll stay to watch . . . but if those bastards so much as twitch in ourdirection, we’re jumping the hell out of here.”
“Understood, sir. Thank you.”
Resolute’s engines rumbled and the ship moved off.
Three dozen Covenant ships—big ones, destroyers and cruisers—winked into view in the system. Theywere sleek, looking more like sharks than starcraft. Their lateral lines brightened with plasma—thendischarged and rained fire down upon Jericho VII.
The Chief watched for an hour and didn’t move a muscle.
The planet’s lakes, rivers, and oceans vaporized. By tomorrow, the atmosphere would boil away, too.Fields and forests were glassy smooth and glowing red-hot in patches.
Where there had once been a paradise, only hell remained.
“Make ready to jump clear of the system,” the Captain ordered.
The Chief continued to watch, his face grim.
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There had been ten years of this—the vast network of human colonies whittled down to a handful ofstrongholds by a merciless, implacable enemy. The Chief had killed the enemy on the ground—shotthem, stabbed them, and broken them with his own two hands. On the ground, the Spartansalways won.
The problem was, the Spartans couldn’t take their fight into space. Every minor victory on the groundturned into a major defeat in orbit.
Soon there would be no more colonies, no human settlements—and nowhere left to run.
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SECTION I
REVEILLE
CHAPTER ONE
0430 Hours, August 17, 2517 (Military Calendar) / Slipstream space - unknown coordinates nearEridanus Star System
Lieutenant Junior Grade Jacob Keyes awoke. Dull red light filled his blurry vision and he choked on theslime in his lungs and throat.
“Sit up, Lieutenant Keyes,” a disembodied male voice said. “Sit. Take a deep breath and cough, sir. Youneed to clear the bronchial surfactant.”
Lieutenant Keyes pushed himself up, peeling his back off the formfitting gel bed. Wisps of fogoverflowed from the cryogenic tube as he clumsily climbed out. He sat on a nearby bench, tried toinhale, and doubled over, coughing until a long string of clear fluid flowed from his open mouth.
He sat up and drew his first full breath in two weeks. He tasted his lips and almost gagged. The cryoinhalant was specially designed to be regurgitated and swallowed, replacing nutrients lost in the deepsleep. No matter how they changed the formula, though, it always tasted like lime-flavored mucus.