Halo: The Cole Protocol (11 page)

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

SCYLLION WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, CHARYBDIS IX

“They’re not trying to push up the stairs hard enough,” Hansen said, ten minutes later.

So far Keyes had only fired warning shots. The rioters would peek around a corner and fire off a round, and he would too, and then there would be silence until the next rioter nerved up enough to try doing the same thing.

“She’s right.” Watanabe stepped forward, trying to look down the stairwell. He jerked back as someone fired a shot.

Plasma exploded against the walls of the foyer.

“They’ve got the Covenant weapons now.” Hansen shuffled back from the doorway.

“So why aren’t they rushing us?” Keyes asked. He scanned the rooftop. “They’re up to
something
.”

Hansen pulled a wicked-looking knife out of her boot and put it on the ground. “Keyes, go left, Watanabe, right. Just start checking the edges. Don’t pop your head over, just listen for anything. I’ll hold this point.”

Keyes and Watanabe took off at a crouch for the edge of the roof. Keyes skirted it, slowly moving against the concrete lip. The edge came up to his head.

On the other side of the building, he could see Watanabe doing the same.

Keyes made his way down one whole side of the building. His thighs burned from the awkward waddling by the end, and he paused to stretch them out.

Watanabe had stopped as well.

But he wasn’t stretching his legs. He had his gun out.

Three men leapt over the lip near Watanabe, with Kincaide vaulting the edge just behind them. The ONI agent charged them from the side, shooting down the first man, then the second.

Keyes couldn’t risk firing, he’d just as likely hit Watanabe at this distance, so he sprinted at the group.

Kincaide used the third man, a rioter, as a shield. He shoved the surprised civilian into Watanabe, then shot them both several times with a plasma rifle. Keyes felt sick as he watched Watanabe fall. The man may have been ONI, but he was crew and a fellow soldier, and Keyes realized he was screaming.

Keyes had his pistol up without a second thought. As Kincaide seemed to turn in slow motion, Keyes pulled the trigger.

He’d been aiming for the chest, but the first shot hit Kincaide in the shoulder. It spun the Insurrectionist back, and he struggled to bring the heavy plasma rifle back up to aim at Keyes.

Keyes shot him in the chest, then stomach, grazed his side, and then ran out of ammunition. He slammed into Kincaide, grappling for the alien rifle.

“Damn… UNSC… pig,” Kincaide spat, still trying to force the rifle up into Keyes’ ribs. “Go back to Earth. You don’t belong here.”

The memory of the explosions in the cargo bay of
Finnegan’s Wake,
the flaming Pelican Jeffries piloted going down, wounded ODSTs gritting their teeth and bearing the pain as they waited for help, all filled Keyes’ mind. He grunted and kept forcing the plasma rifle down until it was aimed at Kincaide’s feet.

He pulled the trigger, and a burst of white-hot plasma destroyed the Insurrectionist’s leg and threw Keyes back, still holding onto the rifle.

Concrete bubbled where they’d stood, and Keyes felt the legs of his uniform burning. He patted the fires out quickly, and looked back at Kincaide.

The man had lost his left leg, blown clean off at the thigh. He’d been shot in the shoulder and chest.

Yet he now had a small pistol in his right hand, lifting it up to point it at Keyes with determination in his glazed eyes.

Without hesitation, Keyes blew the Insurrectionist’s head off his body with a burst of plasma.

His hands shook. He’d never shot a man before. He’d shot at people, fired warning shots, practiced in drills, but never actually looked at someone in the eyes who was about to kill him, and beat him to the draw.

Watanabe groaned, and Keyes crawled over to him. The plasma rifle had ripped through the ONI agent’s left torso, leaving a crisped mess.

Keyes gagged at the smell.

“This is bad,” Watanabe muttered.

“Don’t move,” Keyes told him. “Stay still, don’t close your eyes.”

“It hurts.”

Keyes bit his lip. “Just hang in there, Akio. They’re on their way. We just need to hang in there.”

Hansen fired three shots at someone in the stairway trying their luck. Watanabe grabbed Keyes’ forearm and grimaced, then let go.

Keyes looked down at the limp, dead body of Major Akio Watanabe.

He stood up and grabbed Jason Kincaide’s headless corpse, dragged it to the lip, and shoved it over. He heard the distant thump, and a crowd of people shout in surprise.

Keyes walked to the ledge and looked down. A fire truck had been commandeered, the ladder pushed up to the roof. Several hundred rioters milled below, many with plasma rifles.

“Listen up!” Keyes held up his newly acquired plasma rifle as he shouted. “Anyone else tries storming the roof, I’ll blow their damn heads off too.”

He fired the plasma rifle twice into the base of the ladder, and watched with satisfaction as metal slumped and the ladder slid off the side of the building, falling over toward the crowd.

Rioters scattered as it struck the street in their midst.

“Now,” Keyes snapped the word out, in full drill sergeant cadence. He may as well have been talking to a crowd of new recruits. “UNSC marines are about to arrive any second. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be standing around here in plain sight, lest they get the mistaken impression you’re
hostile,
and act accordingly.”

Keyes turned around and walked away from the edge.

“Look,” Hansen said, pointing up.

Stars in the sky grew larger, twinkling brighter and brighter, until they could be seen streaking toward the building.

“The cavalry has arrived,” Keyes said.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

SCYLLION WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, CHARYBDIS IX

Twenty single occupant exoatmospheric insertion vehicle pods came in high, ripping through the atmosphere, still glowing hot from reentry. Parachutes popped, enough to slow the human-sized capsules down a bit. Then at the last second rockets flared, lighting up the night sky in flames and thunder as all the SOEIV pods slammed into the reinforced structure of the roof.

Concrete dust hung in the air, and chips off the roof clattered down as the pods split open and ODSTs leapt out with their battle rifles drawn.

From the corner of the roof, in a pod that leaned precariously near the edge, one ODST hopped out. The SOEIV shook, and then fell off the edge onto the street below.

The Helljumper pulled his helmet off. It was Faison. “Miss us much?”

Keyes pointed at Watanabe, and Faison paused. “Damn. Didn’t like the spook, but still…” He pointed at two ODSTs and detailed them to wrap up Watanabe’s body. Keyes looked away and swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d seen too much death for one day.

“They’re firing RPGs around. It’s probably too risky for Pelicans,” Keyes said. “They took Jeffries out.”

“We heard about them coming in,” Faison said. He looked around. “But don’t worry, we’ve got it in hand, Lieutenant. You saved our asses back on the
Finnegan
’s
Wake,
now it’s time for us to even up.”

“I don’t want to see anyone else die down here,” Keyes said.

“Magnus! Jeremy!” Faison shouted. A pair of very tall and bulky Helljumpers ran over. “Grab four spotters, get your gear in place where you two can do your thing. Start marking targets. But stay in the shadows.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And someone,” Faison said into his mic, still hanging from his ear, “please start tossing grenades down that stairwell.” The mob had retreated when Keyes threw the body of Kincaide over the wall, but there were gunshots coming from the corridor and the street as the mob worked itself back up.

Two svelte ODST shadows meandered over to the side of the doors and skipped grenades down the foyer and into the stairwell.

“Fire in the hole,” one shouted, just before a fireball gushed out the door.

There were screams from the depths of the warehouse.

Keyes switched frequencies to the marine’s open chatter. He could hear the spotters with their night vision and thermal gear muttering. “See the one out by that window?”

“Yep, marked him.”

“Okay, I got one on top of the building. North-north-west. Near the water tower.”

“Sneaky. Yeah.”

Keyes followed Faison over to an edge, where he held his helmet over the lip for a second, then pulled it back over and reviewed the cam footage.

“Look at that,” Faison said. “All this excitement scared off the rioters. So, anyone left is an Innie.”

“Perimeter secure,” a Helljumper reported. “They’re not shooting at us yet.”

“Okay,” Faison said. “Bring on the decoy and let’s play find-the-RPG-launchers.”

A Pelican with its running lights on came in slowly, passing them overhead, and swooping around. “Take out your targets,” Faison said.

The two snipers, Magnus and Jeremy, were the focus now.

Crack.
The sound of an SRS 99 carried over the rooftop. “Got Mr. Window.” The pair of snipers had crawled onto the top of the small structure above the foyer, a building on a building. It gave them unobstructed line of sight to the surrounding streets and buildings.

“Mr. Water Tower is… clear of the lattice…”
Crack.
“And he’s most definitely not going out to party tonight.”

“Moving location.” One of them jumped off and sprinted across the rooftop, the long barrel of the sniper rifle bobbing. He set up on the corner of the building, the edge of the gun resting on the concrete lip.

“While you’re huffing about, Mr. Street Corner is sighting on the Pelican…”
Crack.
“And down.”

Crack.
“That’s the last one.”

Faison made a circling motion with his hand. “That’s how we do it, gentlemen. Bring the other Pelicans in.”

Two Pelicans descended out of the clouds and came in hard, slamming onto the roof. Hansen and Keyes ran up the ramps and buckled in; the Helljumpers followed.

The Pelicans dusted off, engines screaming as they zigzagged their way out of the neighborhood. An occasional zap of plasma-rifle fire rang in the distance.

As the ramp shut, Faison staggered his way forward to Keyes and handed him a cigar.

Keyes eyed the flaked exterior. “A Sweet William?”

“Nothing but the best, sir. A victory smoke.”

“A victory smoke?” Keyes looked over at Watanabe’s body. “We lost two of our own down there. Those rioters have
Covenant
weapons, now.”

“Sir, any day you come back from a mission alive, it’s a victory.” The Helljumper grinned. They were a different breed of soldier, Keyes had to keep reminding himself. They had to be. Packing yourself into a heatshield pod, braving the flames of reentry over a planet, and parachuting down into the middle of action, surrounded… that was a bit above the call of duty for a normal marine.

Keyes handed Faison back the cigar. “I don’t smoke. It’s against regulations.”

“Sir, I’ve seen you standing with a pipe, in the chart room, looking over maps.”

His grandfather’s pipe. It was an heirloom, and Keyes kept it on him. It comforted him to have it in hand. An old habit. “And I don’t smoke it. But tell you what, marine, when I see a victory, I’ll smoke one with you. This wasn’t a victory, it was a cluster—”

“It wasn’t a complete loss,” Hansen said. She stood at the center of the Pelican, balancing as the craft shook and shuddered its way higher and higher. “The reason Kincaide was so set on eliminating us was that he realized he made a mistake. He told me the name of the next ship making a smuggling run while he was trying to bid up the price of the weapons. Said he’d done business with them.”

“And the name of the ship?”

“The
Kestrel.
These Covenant weapons, they’re a problem, Keyes. We need to figure out why the Covenant’s doing this. And we damn well need to stop it.”

“Hoo-ah,” one of the Helljumpers agreed.

Keyes folded his arms. The
Kestrel.

They’d hunt it to the edge of the galaxy if necessary, as far as Keyes was concerned. Someone was going to have to pay for all the deaths on his watch.

“Sir,” the pilot of the Pelican shouted back into the hold. “Sir, the
Midsummer Night
’s hailing us.”

The pilot’s voice had cracked slightly.

Fear.

Keyes walked calmly up behind the woman’s chair, even though he could feel the kick in his stomach.

The pilot’s helmet twisted back. It had the name Carson stenciled on it. The Pelican bucked a bit as it passed over clouds, still gaining altitude. The craft was pitched up, aiming for the black of space. “The sensor stations at the edge of the system think something’s coming in. Something big,” she said.

“Covenant?” Keyes asked.

“Know of any other fleets planning to wing by this place?” Carson returned to getting them to orbit, and Keyes stumbled back down the steep angle.

“Are there any Navy ships scheduled to arrive?” he asked Hansen.

She shook her head. “Cole is still out near Harvest. Mawikizi’s main fleet is spread out around Ectanus. There are three destroyers picketing—”

“The
Night’s
main attribute is her stealth,” Keyes said, his mind rapidly running through some rudimentary plans on how three Destroyers and the
Midsummer Night
could face this Covenant fleet. So far only Admiral Cole and his battle group had ever scored a meaningful victory against the Covenant. And it was a loose secret within the Navy that Cole had thrown three ships against the Covenant forces for every ship of theirs he destroyed.
Midsummer Night
and the three other frigates would be facing long odds. “If it’s Covenant, we’ll have to utilize that stealth for a defense.”

With stealth, and the single MAC gun aboard the
Night,
a series of hit-and-runs could perhaps harass the Covenant into chasing them, and lure them into a situation where the three Destroyers would only face one or two Covenant ships.

Hansen shook her head. “If the Covenant are coming for Charybdis, your one frigate will make no difference. Keyes, it’s vital you follow up on the
Kestrel,
find out what the Covenant are really up to. It’s what your ship was designed for. We can’t waste it on a last stand.”

“But—”

“It wouldn’t be a wise use of resources.” Hansen bit her lip. “And the UNSC, every day, has fewer and fewer resources to spare, Keyes. We’ve been fighting the Covenant now for almost a decade. As of now, we’ve pretty much lost all the Outer Colonies. You need to find out what is going on. You need to go after the
Kestrel.
Before the Covenant get all the way in-system and trap you.”

It didn’t sit well with Keyes, abandoning people to a doomed defense. He stood next to the ONI agent in silence as the Pelican broke free of the atmosphere.

“After you drop me off at the orbital depot, tell Zheng to get clear. I’ll transmit the orders. You’ll find that I outrank you both.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Keyes said.

Hansen sighed. “And when you find your real victory, Lieutenant, make sure you smoke one of those Sweet Williams for me.”

“We’re coming in!” Carson announced from the cockpit. “And fast. Captain Zheng wants us back on board ASAP.”

Through the cockpit windows the long spars of a Navy orbital depot slowly rotated. Carson twitched the Pelican until it slammed against one of the spokes.

As the back opened, Keyes stood straight and saluted. The ODSTs inside followed his example, not sure what was going on.

Hansen saluted back, and then left the Pelican.

“Okay,” Carson shouted. “Hang on!”