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The rest of the five-vehicle reaction force followed just as the Wraith on Hill One hurled a third then a fourth plasma ball high into the sky.
McKay looked up, saw the fireball slow to a near stop at the point of apogee, and knew it would be a race. Would the bomb land on top of the reaction force? Or, would the fast-moving ’Hogs slip out from under it, leaving the plasma charge to explode harmlessly on the ground?
The gunner saw the threat as well, and yelled, “Go! Go! Go!” as the driver swerved to avoid a clutch of rocks, did his best to push the accelerator through the floor. He mumbled, “Damn, damn, damn,” as he felt something wet and warm puddle on his seat.
The energy bomb fell with increasing velocity. The first LRV slipped underneath it, quickly followed by the second and third.
Heart in her throat, McKay looked back over her shoulder as the plasma weapon landed, detonated, and blew a large crater out of the ground.
Then, like a miracle on wheels, Romeo Five flew through the smoke, bounced as it hit the edge of the newly created crater, and lurched up over the rim.
There was no time to celebrate as the Ghosts pulled into range and the lead vehicle opened fire. McKay raised her assault rifle, took aim at the nearest blur, and squeezed the trigger.
Master Sergeant Lister faced a harsh reality. Never mind Banshees that swooped overhead, or the Ghosts up ahead, it was his job to do something about the mortar fire, and as the hills loomed ahead, Second Platoon’s Scorpions were coming up on the point when their main guns would no longer be able to elevate high enough to engage the primary target. One more salvo, that’s what the tanks could deliver, before their weapons could no longer be brought to bear.
“Wake up, people,” Lister said over the platoon frequency, “the last group on the left was at least fifteen meters too low, and the last group on the right overshot the hill. Make adjustments, take the tops off those hills, and do itnow . We don’t have time to screw around.”
Each tank commander adjusted aim, sent their shells on the way, and prayed for a hit. They all knew that facing the Covenant would be easier than suffering Lister’s wrath should the shells miss their marks.
Field Master ’Putumee watched impassively as the Wraith on First Hill exploded, taking a file of Jackals with it. He was sorry to lose the mortar tank, but the truth was that with two dozen Ghosts milling around in the pass below, he was going to have to cease fire anyway. Either that or risk killing his own troops. The Elite snapped an order, saw one last fireball sail into the air, and watched the humans enter the gap.
Lance Corporal “Snaky” Jones was screwed, he knew that, had known it ever since the front end of his ’Hog took a hit and flipped end-for-end. He was standing behind the LAAG, firing forward over the driver’s head, when he was suddenly catapulted into the air. Jones saw a blur, hit hard, and tumbled head over heels. Once his body came to a stop the Marine discovered that it was almost impossible to breathe, which was why he just lay there at first, staring up into the amazing blue sky as he gasped for air.