第97页

　　Lieutenant  Haverson  licked  his  lips.  "Play  it,"  he  said.
　　A  message  beeped  through  the  speakers,  six  tones,  then  a  two-second  pause;  it  repeated.
　　The  Master  Chief  stiffened.
　　"That's  it,"  Cortana  said.  "Just  those  six  notes  over  and  over.  It  originates  here."  A  tiny  NAV  triangle  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the  intact  region  on  the  planet's  surface.
　　"It's  not  Morse  code,"  Polaski  said.  "Not  any  code  I've  heard  of.  Maybe  it's  a  test  signal?  Something  automated,  like  an  air-traffic  repeater  relay,  maybe?"
　　"It's  not  automated,"  the  Master  Chief  said.  "Everyone  gear  up  and  get  ready.  We're  going  down  there.  There  are  Spartans  down  there.  And  they're  still  alive."
　　He  whispered  so  softly  that  only  he  and  Cortana  heard:  "Oly  Oly  Oxen  Free."
　　CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN
　　1002  hours,  July  14,2523  (Military  Calendar)\Epsilon  Eridani  system,  planet  Reach,  Spartan  training  exercise.  Twenty-nine  years  ago.
　　John  crawled  forward  and  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  rise.  A  lush,  green  valley  stretched  out  below  him.  In  the  distance,  the  silvery  reflections  of  the  Big  Horn  River  twisted  through  the  thick  forest.  Aside  from  a  flock  of  birds  that  wheeled  overhead,  there  was  no  activity  below.  He  inched  back  to  a  blackened,  hol?low  tree  stump  and  crawled  inside.
　　Fred  and  Linda  sat  inside  the  hollowed-out  cedar  stump.  It  muffled  their  conversations  and  insulated  them  from  the  sol?diers'  thermal  goggles.  "It's  all  clear  for  now,"  he  whispered.  A  moment  later  Sam,  Kelly,  and  Fhajad  appeared,  ghostlike,  from  their  camouflaged  positions  nearby.  They  crouched  outside  the  cedar  stump  and  watched  for  patrols.
　　From  a  distance  they  looked  like  soldiers  on  field  maneuvers.  Each  was  tall,  fit,  and  agile,  and  looked  to  be  in  their  late  teens  or  early  twenties.  Closer  observation  told  a  different  story.  Each  Spartan  was  no  more  than  twelve  years  old.
　　"Weapons  check,"  John  told  Fred  and  Linda.  "We  can't  afford  any  mistakes  on  this  one,  especially  not  with  the  rifles."
　　Linda  and  Fred  disassembled  and  inspected  their  SRS99C-S2  sniper  rifles—which  they'd  liberated  from  a  pair  of  Tango  Com?pany  shooters  who'd  been  sent  to  hunt  them  down  two  days  ago.  If  the  soldiers  of  Tango  Company  didn't  capture  them  and  beat  them  into  unconsciousness—this  would  be  fun.
　　John  checked  his  pistol.  CPO  Mendez  had  issued  the  weapon.  It  used  compressed  air  to  fire  a  narq-dart.  The  effective  range
　　158 HALO:  FIRST  STRIKE
　　was  twenty  meters,  and  on  impact  it  could  drop  a  rhino  in  its  tracks.
　　Twenty  meters  wouldn't  cut  it  for  this  mission,  though,  so  Fhajad  had  modified  the  114mm  APFSDS  rounds  from  the  sniper  rifles,  removed  their  deadly  armor-piercing  tips,  and  re?placed  them  with  narq-dart  capsules.
　　When  Linda  had  test-fired  the  weapon,  she  promised  John  ac?curacy  to  one  hundred  meters.  The  rounds  would  penetrate  flesh,  but  they  couldn't  kill  anyone—not  unless  she  hit  the  temple  or  eyes.
　　"Okay,"  John  said,  "this  is  supposed  to  be  a  training  exercise,  but  this  is  the  seventh  time  Chief  Mendez  has  made  us  play  with  Tango  Company."