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He would have ordered Fincher to grab the launcher—but he’d have to stop to grab it . . . that, or try todrive with no hands. If the Warthog stopped, they’d be sitting ducks for those fliers.
Harland glanced at the riverbanks. They were too steep for the Warthog. They were stuck in the riverwith no cover.
“Walker, do something!”
Corporal Harland fired the chain-gun again until his arms went numb. It was no good; the Bansheeswere too far away, too quick.
Another plasma bolt hit—directly in front of the Warthog. Heat washed over Harland. Blisterspinpricked his back.
He screamed but kept shooting. If they hadn’t been in water, that plasma would have melted the tires . . .probably would have flash-fried them all.
A burst of heat and a plume of smoke erupted next to Harland.
For a split second he thought the Covenant gunners had found their mark—that he was dead. Hescreamed incoherently, his thumbs jamming down the chain-gun’s trigger buttons.
The Banshee he was aiming at flashed, and then became a ball of flame and falling shrapnel.
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He turned, his breath hitching in his chest. They hadn’t been hit.
Cochran knelt next to him. One arm clutched his stomach, and the other arm hefted the Jackhammerlauncher on his shoulder. He smiled with bloodstained lips and pivoted to track the other flier.
Harland ducked, and another missile whooshed directly over his head.
Cochran laughed, coughing up blood and foam. Tears of mirth or pain—Harland couldn’t tell—streamedfrom his eyes. He collapsed backward, and let the smoldering launcher slip from his hand.
The second Banshee exploded and spiraled into the jungle.
“Two more klicks,” Fincher shouted. “Hang on.” He cranked the wheel and the Warthog swerved out ofthe streambed and bounced up the hillside, up and over, and they slid onto a paved road.
Harland leaned over and felt Cochran’s neck for a pulse. It was there, weak; but he was still alive.Harland glanced at Walker. He hadn’t moved, his eyes squeezed shut.
Harland’s first impulse was to shoot him right then and there—the goddamned, goldbricking, cowardlybastard almost cost them all their lives—
No. Harland was half amazed he hadn’t frozen up, too.
HQ was ahead. But Corporal Harland’s stomach sank as he saw smoke and flames blazing on thehorizon.
They passed the first armed checkpoint. The guardhouse and bunkers had been blasted away, and in themud were thousands of Grunt tracks.
Farther back, he saw a circle of sandbags around a house-size chunk of granite. Two Marines waved tothem. As they approached in the Warthog, the Marines stood and saluted.
Harland jumped off and returned their salute.
One of the Marines had a patch over his eye and his head was bandaged. Soot streaked his face. “Jesus,sir,” he said. “It’s good to see you guys.” He approached the Warthog. “You’ve got a working radio inthat thing?”
“I—I’m not sure,” Corporal Harland said. “Who’s in charge here? What happened?”