The Fall of Reach (h-1) by Eric Nylund

Author:Eric Nylund [Nylund, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_action
ISBN: 978-0-345-45132-3
Publisher: Del Rey Books
Published: 2001-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

1800 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Sigma Octanus IV, grid nineteen by thirty-seven

The Master Chief surveyed what was left of Camp Alpha. There were only fourteen Marine regulars left—balanced against the four hundred men and women who had been slaughtered here.

He said to Kelly, “Post a guard on the dropship, and put three on patrol. Take the rest and secure the LZ.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to face the other Spartans, pointed, made three quick hand gestures, and they dispersed like ghosts.

The Master Chief turned to the Corporal. “Are you in command here, Corporal?”

The man looked around. “I guess so... yes, sir.”

“As of 0900 Standard Military time, NavSpecWep is assuming control of this operation. All Marine personnel now report through our chain of command. Understand, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Corporal, brief me on what happened here.”

Corporal Harland hunkered down and sketched rough maps of the area as he quickly recounted the brutal series of surprise attacks. “Right here—grid thirteen by twenty-four. That’s where they hit us, sir. Something’s goin’ on there.”

The Master Chief scanned the crude maps, compared them with the area surveys displayed in his HUD, then nodded, satisfied.

“Get your wounded inside the Pelican, Corporal,” he said. “We’ll be dusting off soon. I want you to rotate by thirds on guard duty. The rest of your men should get some sleep. But make no mistake—if the Pelican gets fragged, we’ll be staying on Sigma Octanus Four.”

The Corporal paled, then replied, “Understood, sir.” He stood slowly—the long day of combat and flight had taken its toll. The Marine saluted, then moved to assemble his team.

Inside his sealed helmet, John frowned. These Marines were now under his command... and therefore part of his team. They lacked the Spartans’ firepower and training, so they had to be protected—not relied upon. He had to make sure they got out in one piece. Another snag in an already dicey mission.

The Master Chief opened his COM link: “Team leaders meet me at the LZ in three minutes.”

Lights winked on his heads-up display—his Spartans acknowledging the order.

He looked around at the destruction. Thin sunlight reflected dully from the thousands of spent shell casings strewn across the battlefield. Dozens of shattered Warthog chassis bled trails of smoke into the hazy sky. Scores of burned corpses lay in the mud.

They’d have to get a burial detail down here later... before the Grunts got to the dead.

The Master Chief would never question his orders, but he felt a momentary stab of bitterness. Whoever set these camps up without proper reconnaissance, whoever had blindly trusted the satellite transmissions in an enemy-held region, had been a fool.

Worse, they had wasted the lives of good soldiers.

Green Team’s leader jogged in from the south. The Master Chief couldn’t see her features through her reflective faceplate, but he could tell without checking his HUD that it was Linda by the way she moved... that, and the SRS99C-S2 AM sniper rile with Oracle scope she carried.

She carefully looked around, verified that the area was secure, and slung her rifle.

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