第15页
"Everyone," John shouted, "into the center."
Holes peppered the Warthog, armor-piecing rounds penetrating the side like paper and denting the casings of the warheads.
"Behind the warheads!" Fred told them.
John, Kelly, Fred, and Linda huddled behind the missiles. Nuclear warheads ironically would provide their best defense. Their casings were superhardened, both to contain radiation and hold the fury of a small sun for a split second longer and to boost the thermonuclear yield.
John looked up at the driver's seat. Kurt squeezed himself lower into the seat, presenting the smallest possible target, risking his life to get them all to safety.
The Warthog billowed smoke, but its speed slowly increased to forty kilometers an hour. A sharp rattle came from the engine. A tire shredded and the vehicle swerved right and then left.
Kurt regained control and kept going.
The AP fire slowed and then stopped.
"Brace!" Kurt said and downshifted.
The Warthog barreled through the chain-link and concertina-wire barrier, over gravel fields, and into the forest.
"Road 32-B to the PZ," Kurt said.
"Road" was a creative overstatement. They bounced along, mowing down trees, fishtailing, and spraying mud.
"Drones!" Kurt told them.
"Get the hatch open," John ordered. Kelly and Fred pulled the midsection roof panels apart.
John stuck his head out, and spotted three MAKO-class attack drones jetting toward them, each heavy with a fat missile. One direct hit would take out the Warthog. Even a near miss could destroy an axle.
Linda popped up, her sniper rifle already in hand and eyes on the scope.
John and Linda opened fire.
The lead drone smoked and dropped into the trees. The next drone angled up, bobbing. It released its missile, and banked away. A line of smoke appeared, a tail of fire, and a missile accelerated toward them at a frightening rate.
Linda fired, squeezing off the rounds as fast as the chamber could cycle. The missile started to spin… but it was still dead on course.
"PZ three hundred meters," Kelly said, consulting her tablet. "Welcome committee has us in their sights."
"Tell them we have the package," John said, "and we need a hand."
"Roger that," she said.
The missile was two kilometers from them—closing fast.
Ahead, the forest turned into swamp. With a hurricane roar, a UNSC Pelican dropship rose over the treetops and its twin chain guns spat a cloud of depleted uranium slugs at the incoming missile—making it bloom into a flower of fire and smoke.
"Stand by for pickup, Blue Team," the dropship's pilot said over their COM. "We got incoming single-craft hostiles. So hang tight, and go vacuum protocols."
"Check suit integrity," John ordered. He remembered Sam
and how his friend had sacrificed himself, remaining on a Covenant ship under siege because of a breach in his suit. If a single AP round had breached their MJOLNIR, they'd be in a similar jam.
The Warthog, billowing thick black clouds, rattled to a stop.