第72页
Fred caught motion in the corner of his eye—a shadow buzzed over his tank, and a blast rocked it from side to side.
That had to be Banshees. It made sense that they'd already have Elites in the air, on patrol. He cursed himself for not spotting them before. It was only a matter of time now. Without infantry
116 HALO: FIRST STRIKE
support, sooner or later the Covenant ground and air forces would regroup and destroy them.
"Move!" he shouted over the COM. "Break off contact and get to the caves!"
Kelly gunned her tank and pushed through the wreckage.
Fred let her get ahead and paused to target the excavation equipment. He fired once.
Three rapid impacts thudded on top of his tank—exploded and shook his teeth. He fired three more times at the excava?tion equipment and gunned the Wraith tank. It shuddered and lurched forward.
He gritted his teeth and smiled. On the display, the smoke cleared enough for him to see that the laser drill, conveyor belts, and the insectlike diggers had been reduced to piles of half-melted junk.
The displays lost focus. No—Fred saw it wasn't the picture; smoke poured into the cockpit.
"Banshees circling over you," Kelly yelled over the COM. "Get out!"
Fred popped the hatch and crawled out.
Overhead, a dozen Banshee fliers turned to strafe his crip?pled tank.
Fred jumped, rolled to his feet, and ran. A NAV marker ap?peared on his heads-up display, over a gash in the side of the mountain where the cavern entrance used to be.
A red-hot sledgehammer hit him squarely in the back: a plasma pistol on overload. He reeled forward but didn't lose his balance—and kept running. There was no time to stop. He glanced at his shield bar; it was completely drained, but it slowly began to recharge. He dodged and weaved back and forth. He couldn't take many more hits like that.
"Hurry," Kelly said.
He crossed the remaining hundred meters in seconds and jumped into a crater where there had once been a gatehouse and the secure entrance to ONI's underground base.
Kelly stood, braced just over the lip of the crater, holding a Warthog's chaingun. She aimed over Fred's head and sprayed the enemy with thunderous suppression fire. SPARTAN-043, Will,
ERIC NYLUND 117
stood next to her. Fred was thrilled to see them alive—and even more thrilled to see Will holding a Jackhammer rocket launcher.
"Get below," Kelly said, and motioned with her head to the center of the crater. "We'll cover you." She continued to fire until she had depleted the chaingun's belt of ammunition.
Will took aim and squeezed the trigger. A rocket knifed through the air, and a contrail of white smoke connected with the cockpit of an oncoming Banshee. The alien flier disintegrated in a ball of fire.
Fred turned and saw a shaft that plunged deep into the ground. A steel cable had been rigged to one side, and it angled into the depths.
He grabbed the line, jumped, and zipped into the darkness. He felt a sharp vibration through the line—once, then twice—as the other Spartans followed him.