Oblivion, page 29
“Of course not,” Petrov said a little too quickly. “We’re on the surface, so you’re in command.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” John said.
“But be sure you’re thinking clearly,” Petrov said. “If you start risking Spartans on low-value missions, you’re not going to be in command for very long.”
“That’s a fair point, ma’am.” John paused, grinding his teeth and fighting to retain his composure. “But I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re making a mistake, son.”
Petrov paused, giving him a chance to change his mind, but she was only making him angrier.
When John remained silent, Petrov sighed and continued, “But it’s your call.”
“I’m glad we agree on that,” John said. “And, ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t ever call me ‘son.’ ”
CHAPTER 18
* * *
* * *
Ninth Age of Reclamation
42nd Cycle, 010 Units (Covenant Battle Calendar)
Gorge of Deep Resolve, Mountains of Tremulous Faith
Planet N’ba, Eryya System
Nizat ‘Kvarosee’s quarry had emerged from the gorge and followed the ancient roadway across a thousand paces of talus-covered slope. There the road, so buried in shards of dark stone that it was barely discernible, reached the base of a cliff and turned back on itself in a tight switchback. The infidel column had just rounded the switchback and started to descend back along the road’s second traverse.
At least, Nizat assumed the column was his quarry. Through the haze of heat refraction, all he could truly see was a line of about fifty dark-uniformed ghosts fluttering along behind a pair of self-propelled gun carts.
He had once heard a reconnaissance operative refer to the gun carts by their human name, Warthogs, and perhaps that was a better term. No worthy commander would allow his combat equipment to be encumbered with casualties, yet a scout had reported earlier that both gun carts were so burdened with disabled humans that the gunners barely had room to stand.
It was a problem Nizat hoped to soon eliminate for them.
He belly-crawled back into the gorge, where Tam ‘Lakosee waited with what remained of the Steadfast Strike’s security cadre.
The steward took his arm and pulled him to his feet. Normally Nizat would not have allowed such a familiar gesture, but Nizat had run as far as anyone in the blistering heat, and he was grateful for the help.
He brushed the dust from his armor, then said to the steward, “Call the marksmen forward.”
‘Lakosee turned to relay the order, and Nizat took the opportunity to appraise his unit. Between heat deaths and the enemy’s preemptive counterattack, he had already lost half his force. Judging by their slumped shoulders and unsteady posture, he would soon lose another quarter.
Had there been a cadre of Ground Swords available to him, the attrition would not have been so high. But surface warriors were usually more loyal to their clan kaidon than to the fleetmaster who ferried them to battle, and there had been no time to recruit one to his cause.
Ten Fleet Rangers armed with beam rifles and dressed in active-camouflage armor pushed forward through the mass. Nizat could tell by how their helmets sagged and their weapons dangled that they were suffering as much as he was. But there was little Nizat could do to give them rest—and nothing at all to cool them.
Distressingly, humans were even more vulnerable to heat than his Sangheili. Their red-faced bodies had lain curled along the roadside every few hundred paces through the gorge, and Nizat knew that if he did not catch up to the column soon, the entire complement from the ONI salvage ship would die from the elements.
And Nizat needed his quarry alive, because nothing would be gained by planting Luminal Beacons on dead bodies. He did not know much about ONI, but he was fairly certain that they would not go to much trouble to retrieve corpses.
Once his marksmen had gathered around, Nizat pointed toward the switchback on the far side of the slope.
“The time has come to corner these igzuks.”
“How many shall we kill?” asked the tallest, a young blade named Bel ‘Tuosee.
“Take out the gun carts first,” Nizat said. “After you have accomplished that, continue firing. But confine your kills to their most efficient soldiers. Our attack must look real . . . but so should their victory.”
‘Tuosee tipped his helmet. “As it is commanded, so it shall be.”
He and the other nine marksmen engaged their active camouflage, then dropped to their bellies and began to creep out onto the road. The light-bending technology made them almost invisible even from a few paces away, so crawling into position was probably an unnecessary precaution—especially given the image-blurring caused by N’ba’s incessant heat. But beam rifle marksmen had cautious natures—it was an important survival trait—and they were taking no chances.
Still, Nizat could not help feeling nervous. With the Silent Shadow closing in on him—their scouts had certainly discovered the infidel salvage ship by now—the success of his plan, his only hope of redeeming himself with the gods, as well as the Prophets, rested on the abilities of the marksmen. It was all he could do to refrain from reminding them to watch for tripwires and pressure plates. This group of humans liked to lay traps even more than most, and so far the cadre had lost sixteen warriors to grenade blasts and fire mines.
Knowing that his admonitions would only prove a distraction, he turned back to ‘Lakosee. “The Beacons are ready?” he asked. “The volunteers are clear on their assignments?”
“We are.”
‘Lakosee pulled an infidel emergency locator from his equipment pouch and handed it to Nizat. About half the size of a plasma grenade, the device had been captured from one of the humans who had died ambushing them back near the salvage ship, at the bottom of the slider-lines they had used to cross the gorge.
Nizat was not certain that the locator signal still worked properly—he had no way to confirm its function, even had he wished to risk testing it—but it now contained the Luminal Beacon that had originally been concealed inside the anti-gravity harness he had once hoped to trick the enemy into stealing.
He had been forced to rapidly change plans when the harness was damaged during the gorge crossing. While there was every reason to believe the humans would take a fully functional device back to their discovery temple, it seemed less likely that their attention would be captured by a piece of non-functional equipment. And it had occurred to him that while the humans would be cautious about examining any Covenant technology they captured, they would be more careless with their own equipment. So he had decided to improvise by planting the Beacon in a piece of equipment that an ONI infidel would carry home without thinking about it.
Nizat had never favored improvising in combat. But it seemed to be a technique that served the demon Spartans well, and the surest way to defeat one’s enemy was to make their strengths your own.
He studied the captured locator long enough to confirm that the infidel device still looked somewhat natural, then asked ‘Lakosee, “You intend to plant it yourself?”
“If you will allow me the honor.”
“And you know who to look for?”
‘Lakosee’s helmet swung up and to the right, a sign of confirmation. “A specimen without fighting prowess, preferably without armor or weapons,” he said. “A discovery priest who will be unlikely to recognize an insincere attack.”
“Good.” Nizat returned the device to ‘Lakosee. “You will make me proud, there can be no doubt.”
‘Lakosee held his helmet a little higher, then turned and waved forward a huge warrior in the blue energy-shielded armor of a First Blade Fleet Ranger.
“You know Gri ‘Waqilsee, Fleetmaster?”
“Of course.”
To be precise, Nizat actually did not. While the Fleet of Unsung Piety was small, it still had three thousand crewmen—and he couldn’t possibly remember all of their names. But this Gri ‘Waqilsee was evidently the one who had volunteered to wear a faulty energy shield into battle and deliver the second Luminal Beacon. So it was only fitting to honor his courage by pretending to know his name.
“Tam ‘Lakosee has spoken of your devotion.”
“I am honored that you would say so.” ‘Waqilsee did not appear susceptible to flattery, but he seemed to appreciate the effort. “I will endeavor to be worthy.”
“I have no doubt that you will.”
What Nizat left unspoken was that he would be nearby to make certain ‘Waqilsee had no second thoughts.
“The shield will last just long enough to draw the infidels’ interest, and it will not self-destruct when you fall,” ‘Lakosee said. “Your death will be our signal to retreat. It will look as though your loss has demoralized us.” Nizat looked ‘Waqilsee up and down, then added, “Even so, if I were an infidel, I would be trembling in fear already.”
Realizing that he had not yet heard the beam rifles attack, Nizat turned back toward the mouth of the gorge and peered out at the long, barely discernible terrace that marked the road’s traverse across the talus slope. He knew the marksmen were there, but the only sign of their presence was a few blurs amid the rocks—and those could have been nothing but refraction ripples caused by rising heat.
He knelt on the roadbed, trying to peer out at the area near the switchback without presenting a silhouette that might draw the enemy’s attention. The humans had stopped a quarter of the way along the lower traverse. The gun carts were idling at the head of the column. Behind the two vehicles, the humans sat on the slope with cloaks and other covers pulled over their heads to provide shade.
Thinking the drivers must be contemplating some hazard not visible from his vantage point, Nizat cautiously moved forward, working his way closer to the road edge so that he would have a clear view down the near side of the slope, where the plateau ended and the gorge spilled into the talus field.
The gorge bottom lay only a hundred paces below, a jumbled band of rounded boulders that turned sharply downhill and descended along the edge of the plateau in a dry riverbed that had probably once been a long, beautiful cataract.
Where the road reached the dry cataract, there stood the abutment of a fallen bridge that had spanned the river to enter the mouth of a large, dark tunnel.
The humans were contemplating the tunnel, Nizat realized. They were thinking about the cool relief they would find inside, planning a way to cross the dry cataract and haul everyone down a sheer cliff into the tunnel mouth.
And if they figured it out, Nizat’s plan was ruined. They would have an excellent, defensible position where they could wait in comfort and pick off his force at leisure.
Nizat activated the communications unit inside his helmet. “ ‘Tuosee, why are you not yet attacking?”
“Because the angle is poor and the range is long,” ‘Tuosee said. “If we attack now, you will have a thousand paces of steep, graveled terrain to cross, and our ability to cover you will be limited. If we wait—”
“There is no time.”
It was voice of Ob ‘Nathisee, shipmaster of the Steadfast Strike, cutting into the transmission. “The Silent Shadow has arrived. Their first transport reached the infidel ship a full unit ago, and as we departed, we saw it entering—”
“You have taken the Steadfast Strike and departed?” Nizat was in complete disbelief. Truly, fate was playing the cruelest of tricks in what had become an utter folly here on this godsforsaken planet.
“Only the plateau, Fleetmaster,” ‘Nathisee said. “We are still on N’ba, but we had to move. The Silent Shadow sent a Banshee flight after us as well.”
Nizat took a breath, then said, “You did well. But if the Silent Shadow arrived a unit ago, why am I only hearing about it now?”
“We have been trying to raise you since we saw the first transport,” ‘Nathisee said. “We had almost lost hope.”
Of course. Nizat had been deep inside the gorge, and the Steadfast Strike had been . . . where, exactly?
“What is your present location?”
“We await your will out in the mirage lands.”
“You are in the open?” Nizat began to wonder if it was really ‘Nathisee to whom he was speaking. The voice sounded like the shipmaster’s . . . but the assassins of the Silent Shadow had their tricks. “What of the Banshees the Silent Shadow sent?”
“Destroyed by the humans. I am hearing from Shipmaster ‘Weyodosee that your plan is working. The humans have engaged the Fleet of Swift Justice, and they are keeping it well occupied.”
“Welcome news,” Nizat replied. If ‘Weyodosee was in contact, that meant Nizat’s flagship, the Quiet Faith, still survived. “And what action is the Flotilla of Unsung Piety taking?”
“Awaiting your return, Fleetmaster.”
“I see.” Nizat did not really understand why he felt so disappointed. He would have done the same thing in their place. “My loyal shipmasters are waiting to see if I survive down here.”
“They are reluctant to engage Covenant vessels, worthy Fleetmaster. And the humans are buying us time to escape. If the Steadfast Strike launches soon, the battle will serve as a distraction.”
“A wise thought,” Nizat said. “You have read our location?”
“We have.”
“Then await us at the foot of the plateau, where a dry cataract tumbles alongside the cliff. We will join you once we are finished here.”
‘Nathisee did not acknowledge the order.
“We will not be long,” Nizat said. “The humans are in sight now.”
“I understand that. I heard the marksman’s report.” ‘Nathisee hesitated, then finally said, “But you cannot wait, wise Fleetmaster. There are demons behind you too.”
“Spartans.” Of course there were Spartans. They had been sent by the gods to be his personal tormenters. “How many?”
“It is impossible to say,” ‘Nathisee said. “We observed just two, but only because the Silent Shadow was upon us. Had we not left at that moment, the demons would have boarded us before we knew they were coming.”
“How could that be?” Nizat demanded. “Did you not post a guard?”
“Of course, Fleetmaster,” ‘Nathisee said. “But you know how the demons are—they appear when they wish, then vanish before you realize they have destroyed you. We only saw these two because they had to show themselves when they fought off the Banshee attack.”
“Wait,” Nizat said. “You are telling me they saved you from a Banshee attack?”
“Exactly,” ‘Nathisee said. “The Banshees arrived as soon as we launched. They were coming in from our flank, and then two demons rose out of the brush and surprised them. They destroyed one and drove the others off.”
“And then what?”
“Then we were gone,” ‘Nathisee said. “But our sensors . . . what we saw made no sense. The surviving Banshees returned to take their vengeance . . . and then they vanished.”
“Vanished.”
“There were some stray signals above the clouds,” ‘Nathisee said. “Perhaps some demon fighter craft—”
“Now the Spartans have fighter craft?”
“Possibly, Fleetmaster,” ‘Nathisee said. “I cannot say. The only thing I know is that there could have been a hundred demons on the plateau, and we would not have realized it until they killed us and captured the ship. And they must have entered the gorge behind you.”
“Never assume what a Spartan must do. You will regret it every time.” Nizat grew thoughtful, then said, “But that would put them behind the Silent Shadow’s transports as well, would it not?”
“Certainly so,” ‘Nathisee said. “Both vehicles were traveling toward the same place where the human gun carts entered the gorge. Where else could the transports have gone?”
Nizat thought for a moment, then clacked his mandibles in satisfaction. “Nowhere else. The transports have to be behind us.”
‘Lakosee, who had been standing in front of Nizat, listening to the entire exchange, tipped his helmet to the left.
“Forgive me, Fleetmaster,” he said. “But does that make you glad?”
“Oh yes. Very glad indeed.”
“Why?”
“Because now I understand. The Spartans are not my curse.” Nizat turned and looked back up the canyon—an area he now thought of as the Gorge of Deep Resolve. “They are my salvation.”
‘Lakosee glanced away, nervously seeking the gaze of Gri ‘Waqilsee, then slowly looked back to Nizat.
“Fleetmaster, perhaps the heat has grown too much—”
“I am well, Tam. . . . I am.”
‘Lakosee looked back to ‘Waqilsee.
Nizat slapped both hands on ‘Lakosee’s shoulders. “In fact, I am better than I have been in a long, long time.” He turned the steward so they were facing each other. “The Spartans are a gift from the gods. Do you not see? They were sent to save us from the Silent Shadow.”
CHAPTER 19
* * *
* * *
1438 hours, June 7, 2526 (military calendar)
Serpentine Canyon, Crystal Bush Plateau
Mountains of Despair, Planet Netherop, Ephyra System
Linda had constructed the sniper’s nest—a big slab of slate laid over two rows of low stones—more for the Castoff Roselle’s sake than her own. In her climate-controlled Mjolnir armor, Linda could lie out all day and remain operational. But no human, not even someone born into this brutal environment, could endure the blare of Netherop’s sun for more than twenty minutes and be fully ready to fight.
“Why do they wait?” Roselle’s words were little more than a whisper, though it was unlikely anyone would hear. There was a hot, blistering wind coming upslope that would prevent her voice from carrying to anyone below. “It’s been fifty breaths since anyone moved.”
