第84页
“If words were troops you would lead a mighty army indeed. So, spy, are the Banshees ready?”
“Ready and waiting.”
“Excellent,” ’Putumee replied. The gold-armored Elite turned his own monocular on the approaching convoy. “Order the attack.”
“As you order, Excellency.”
’Putumee nodded.
McKay heard the incoming Banshees and the prospect of action banished her butterflies to a less noticeable sector of her stomach. The sound started as a low drone, quickly transformed itself into a buzz, then morphed into a bloodcurdling wail as the officer keyed her mike.
“This is Red One: We have hostile aircraft inbound. First Platoon is clear to engage. Everyone else will remain on standby. This is the warm-up, people, so stay sharp. There’s more on the way. Over and out.”
There were five flights of ten Banshees each, and the first group came through the pass so low that ’Mortumee found himself lookingdown on the wave of aircraft. Sun glinted off the burnished, reflective metal of the Banshees’ wings.
It was tempting to jump into his own aircraft and join them, thrilling to the feel of the low altitude flight, as well as the steadyboom ing of outgoing plasma fire. Such pleasures were denied the spy if he was to maintain the objectivity required to carry out his important work.
Eager to have the first crack at the humans, and determined to leave nothing for subsequent flights to shoot at, the pilots of the first wave fired the moment they came within range.
First Platoon’s Marines saw the aircraft appear low on the horizon, watched the blobs of lethal energy blip their way, and knew better than to engage individual targets. Not yet, anyway. Instead, consistent with the orders that Lieutenant Oros had given, the Helljumpers aimed their M41 LAAGs at a point just west of the pass, and opened fire all at once. The Banshees didn’t have brakes, and the pilots had just started to turn, when they ran right into the meat grinder.
’Mortumee understood the problem right away, as did ’Putumee, who ordered the following waves to break up and attack the convoy independently.
The orders came too late for eight of the first ten aircraft, which were ripped into thousands of pieces, and fell like smoking snow.
A pair of the flyers got through the storm of gunfire. One of the Banshees managed to hit a Warthog with a burst of superheated plasma, killing the gunner, and slagging his weapon. The LRV continued to roll, however—which meant that the trailer and its load of supplies did as well.
Once through the hail of bullets, the surviving Banshees turned and lined up for a second pass.
As the second flight of Covenant aircraft arrived from the east, split up, and launched individual attacks, Field Master ’Putumee barked an order into his radio. The mortar tanks on First and Second Hills fired in unison. Blue-white orbs of fire, trailing tendrils of energy, shot high into the sky, hung suspended for a moment, then began to fall.
The plasma mortars fell with a deliberate, almost casual slowness. They arced gracefully into the ground and a deafening thunderclap shook the ground. Neither round found a target, but these were ranging shots, and that was to be expected.