第88页
But it wasn’t to be. Unlike most of his peers, the pilot in the damaged Banshee must have had a strong desire to transcend the physical, because he turned toward the enemy, put the aircraft into a steep dive, and plunged into the pile of boulders. Oros tried to make the shot but missed—and barely had time to swear before the mortally wounded Banshee augered into the rocks and swallowed the ambush team in a ball of fire.
The fact that Lance Corporal Jones made it all the way to the base of the hill without getting killed was just plain luck. The subsequent scramble up through the loose tumble of rocks was instinctual. The desire to gain elevation is natural to any soldier, but especially to a sniper, which was what Jones had been trained to be when he wasn’t busy humping supplies, operating LAAGs, or taking crap from sergeants.
The fact that Jones was about to go on the offensive, about to take it to the Covenant,that was a decision. Maybe not the smartest decision he’d ever made, but one he knew to be right, and to hell with the consequences.
Jones was only halfway up the side of the hill, but that was high enough to see the top of theopposite hill, and the tiny figures who stood there. Not the Grunts who were running this way and that, not the Jackals who lined the edge of the summit, but the shiny armor of the Elites. Those were the targets he wanted, and they seemed to leap forward as the Marine increased the magnification on his scope, and let the barrel drift slightly. Which life should he take? The one on the left with the blue armor? Or the one on the right, the shiny gold bastard? At that moment in time, in that particular place, Lance Corporal Jones was God.
He clicked the sniper rifle’s safety catch, and lightly rested his finger on the trigger.
’Mortumee had emerged from hiding by that time and was standing next to Field Master ’Putumee as the human convoy cleared the pass and turned up-ring. There was a third hill off to his left—and it, too, was topped with a Wraith.
The mortar tank opened fire. For one brief moment ’Mortumee harbored the hope that the remaining tank would accomplish what the first two had not and decimate the convoy. But the humans were still out of range, and, knowing that the Wraith couldn’t do them any harm, they took the time to put their own tanks into a line abreast.
A single salvo was all it took. All four of the shells landed on target, the mortar tank was destroyed, and the way was clear.
’Putumee lowered his monocular. His face was expressionless. “So, spy, how will your report read?”
’Mortumee looked at the other Elite with a pitying expression. “I’m sorry, Excellency, but the facts are clear, and the report will practically write itself. Had you deployed your forces differently, down on the plain perhaps, victory would have been ours.”
“An excellent point,” the Field Master replied, his tone mild. “Hindsight is always perfect.”
’Mortumee was about to reply, about to say something about the value of foresight, when his head exploded.