Halo: Silent Storm by Troy Denning;

Author:Troy Denning;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2018-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

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0909 hours, March 19, 2526 (military calendar)

Quarry Floor, Seoba Ice Quarry

Moon Seoba, Biko Planetary System, Kolaqoa System

Status reports began to scroll down John’s HUD as the Mjolnir’s onboard computer, sensing his desperation to know how badly the avalanche had decimated the squad, began to query its counterparts in the other Mjolnir units. Naomi-010 and Solomon-069 were listed as incapacitated. Four more Spartans, including John himself, were listed as immobile—probably because they were trapped beneath tons of snow and ice. But no one was KIA yet, and that left half the squad available for immediate action.

“Son of a . . .” Fred said. The avalanche was not deep enough to block comm waves, so Fred’s voice was as clear as if John had been standing next to him—rather than buried somewhere beneath him. “It worked.”

By worked, John assumed that Fred meant the avalanche had carried the Starry Night to the quarry floor. “Then don’t stand there talking about it,” he said. “You’re in command now. Board it and blow it.”

“What about survivors?” Fred asked.

“Rescue if possible.” John switched to the command channel so he could report to Crowther and Nyeto. “Squad elements boarding the target now. Where’s our support?”

“On the way,” Nyeto said. “No worries. They don’t even know we’re here.”

No worries, still? John had to fight to keep from yelling. “Sir—I want them to know you’re there. You need to get them off—”

“We’ll be there soon.” Crowther didn’t sound quite as confident as John would have liked. “Just hang on.”

“I have a plan,” Nyeto added. “The best way to be sure the Covenant doesn’t come back on you is to eliminate them on the first pass.”

John bit his tongue, battling the temptation to ask how long that would take. His Spartans were being used as bait—again—and the only thing he could do about it was soldier up, get unburied, and try to keep them alive.

“Affirmative.”

John activated his headlamp and saw nothing but blue ahead of him. He was hanging in tightly compressed ice and snow like a beetle in amber, with the limbs on one side of his body pulled back behind him and those on the other curled beneath. His helmet was cocked at an angle that made his neck feel like the neural splice at the base of his skull was a putty blade pressed against his spine, and he didn’t have the vaguest idea which way was up.

The onboard computer displayed an arrow on his HUD, pointing toward his left shoulder. When John did not react, the words WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, SOLDIER? appeared beneath the arrow. Either the onboard computer was developing a sense of humor, or it had used John’s neural interface to access his memories of Chief Mendez—the SPARTAN-II program’s primary training instructor on Reach.

John began to twist his left hand back and forth, trying to create a little space. Most victims buried beneath the incredible weight of an avalanche couldn’t even do that much . . . but most victims weren’t wearing fission-powered Mjolnir armor.

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