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Fred shook his head, not understanding.
Kurt uploaded Fred's change of rank, and his IFF icon blinked to the star-and-bar insignia of Lieutenant.
"As an officer, you'll have to keep your eye on the larger picture, Fred. Get your team through that Slipspace field. I'll be right behind you."
Linda and Kelly gathered around them.
Kelly whispered, "We lost you once, Kurt. We're not going to leave you again."
Plasma artillery pounded the face of the hill, shattering stone, and superheated convection rolls distorted the air.
"No one's leaving anyone behind," Kurt assured her. "I just have to rig a little welcome present for our friends." He grabbed the pack with the FENRIS warheads, and swung it over his shoulder.
Kelly, Linda, and Fred exchanged glances.
"I'll be right behind you," Kurt told them. "Now, go. The SPARTAN-IIIs are going to need you."
A hail of needier shards arced up and over the top of the slope, impacting the surfaces around them.
The Spartans huddled together, presenting the smallest target surface, their energy shields flaring as the crystal rounds detonated.
The hardened plates of Kurt's SPI armor cracked and the concussion rattled his bones and splintered the hardening bio-foam in his abdomen. He tasted fresh blood.
The bombardment ceased.
"Hurry!" Kurt told them.
They all jogged to the center. The rift was fading and was now only a meter across. Deep inside, Kurt caught sight of a ribbon of blue and silver. Water glistening in the sunlight?
Kelly and Linda entered without hesitation; Fred halted, turned, and held out his hand.
Kurt took it and shook.
Fred stepped backward and vanished.
Only Tom and Lucy remained, still standing guard by the rift. Their SPI armor picked up and mimicked the gold sunlight in the fissure.
"Okay you two—"
"With all due respect, sir," Tom said. "We're not leaving. You'll have to court-martial us."
Lucy said nothing, but made her intention to fight understood as she hefted their last SPNKr missile launcher.
The rift wavered, dimmed, and contracted to a mere half meter.
"There's no time for this," Kurt growled.
Tom took a step closer to Lucy.
Of course, Kurt had been foolish to think Tom and Lucy would leave him after so many years together—orders or not. Perhaps they even knew what he had in mind.
"Okay, you win. How much ammunition do you have?" Kurt moved to Tom. "We'll pool our reserves."
Tom looked down at his rifle—
Kurt hit him, his flattened palm connecting with the underside of Tom's helmet. The impact lifted the Spartan a half meter off the ground, and he landed in a heap.
Kurt wheeled on Lucy and held up a warning finger, indicating that she stay put.
He checked Tom's bio signs. No bones broken. No cerebral swelling. Just coldcocked.
"He'll live," he said. "You're both going to live. Now give me a hand."
Shadows crisscrossed the hill, and fifty meters overhead Kurt watched three Banshees streak past.
Lucy dropped the missile launcher and helped Kurt pull Tom up.