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It was pretty,very pretty, until a Banshee screamed through the picture and a Warthog roared past on the left.
That was when Jones managed to scramble to his feet, and yelled into his boom mike, only to discover that it was missing. Not just the mike, but his entire helmet, which had come loose during the fall. No helmet meantno mike,no radio, andno possibility of a pickup.
The Lance Corporal swore, ran toward the wrecked Warthog, and gave thanks for the fact that it hadn’t caught fire. The vehicle was resting on its side and the S2 was right where he had left it—clamped butt down behind the driver’s seat.
It was hard to see Sergeant Corly strewn over the rear fender with half her face blown away, so Jones averted his eyes. His rucksack, the one that contained extra ammo, a med pack, and the stuff he had looted from thePillar of Autumn , was right where he had left it, secured to the bottom of the gun pedestal.
Jones grabbed the pack, slung it across his back, and grabbed the sniper rifle. He made sure the rifle was ready to fire, then clicked on the safety and ran for the nearest hill. Maybe he could find a cave, wait for the battle to end, and haul ass back to Alpha Base. Dust puffed away from the Marine’s boots and death hung all around.
Lieutenant Oros estimated that First Platoon had reduced the number of attacking aircraft by two thirds—and she had a plan to deal with the rest. McKay wouldn’t approve—but what was the CO going to do? Send her to Halo? The Lieutenant grinned, gave the necessary order, and jumped down to the ground.
She waved to the volunteers from four of the thirteen Warthogs she had remaining, then scampered toward a group of likely-looking rocks. All five of the Marines carried M19 SSM Rocket Launchers slung across their backs, plus assault weapons, and as many spare rockets as they could carry in the twin satchels that hung from their hands. They pounded across the hardpan, scurried into the protection offered by the surrounding boulders, and set up shop.
When everyone was ready, Oros pulled the pins on one flare after another, tossed them out beyond the circle of rocks, and watched the orange smoke billow up into the sky.
It wasn’t long before the Banshee pilots spotted the smoke and, like vultures attracted to fresh carrion, hurried to the scene.
The Marines held their fire, waited until no less than thirteen of the Covenant aircraft were circling above them, and fired five rockets, all at once. A second volley followed the first—and a third followed that. There was a steady drumbeat of explosions as ten Banshees took direct hits, some from multiple rockets, and ceased to exist.
Of the aircraft that survived the barrage of rockets, two bugged out immediately. The last staggered in response to a near miss, belched smoke from its port engine, and looked like it would go down. Oros thought it was over at that point, that she and her volunteers would be free to fade into the hills, and beat feet for home.