Halo: The Cole Protocol (4 page)

CHAPTER

FOUR

OUTER FRINGES, ECTANUS 45 SYSTEM

Keyes rode the copilot’s seat as Jeffries expertly guided a Pelican full of orbital-drop shock troopers into the inky depths of space between the
Midsummer Night
and the tattered-looking civilian cargo hauler
Finnegan’s Wake.

Finnegan’s Wake
had been slowly edging its way toward the periphery of the Ectanus 45 outer system ever since it left Chi Rho, getting ready for a jump. Zheng had shadowed the freighter long enough to make sure it wasn’t an in-system trip.

It wasn’t. The ship, unaware it was being followed, had headed off well clear of this system’s ecliptic plane.

A surprise shot across the bows from the
Midsummer Night
convinced them to not try accelerating and to allow
Midsummer Night
to match speed so they could sling the Pelican over.

Jeffries came in nice and easy, passing over the hull to the other side of the civilian ship and then slipping the Pelican into the cargo ship’s hold.

“Check your equipment!” the ODST platoon commander Canfield shouted. “Look sharp.”

In the Pelican’s hold ODSTs stirred, unclipped their safety belts, and lined up. They’d been bugging Zheng about not getting a chance to board the previous three civilian ships the
Midsummer Night
had stopped, so the commander had finally agreed to let them get some action in.

“They’re still running a check on the ship’s registry,” Can-field called out from the back. “But we’re ready to rock, sir.”

“Sure you don’t want to wait for their full report, First Lieutenant?” Keyes asked.

Keyes kicked himself for the rookie attitude he’d had just forty-eight hours ago, when he’d thought he had an easy three days ahead of him. True, this was a shakeout, prior to a real-live mission with possible action thanks to the ONI spook and his mysterious sealed orders.

But that hadn’t stopped one exploding pipe and a radiation leak, and several crew from ending up in the infirmary. Two of the point guns on the starboard hull were out. A number of on/off magnets on the MAC, in essence a railgun, were failing, preventing them from getting the full power of the massive cannon.

The
Finnegan’s Wake
didn’t know it, but at the moment, thanks to a partially shut-down reactor that the engineers were working on, they could’ve easily outrun the
Midsummer Night.

“Hell no, sir, I’m all for going in,” Canfield said. He vibrated with energy. Keyes had a feeling Canfield wanted some action, and now. He’d have to keep an eye on him, make sure Canfield didn’t get overly rough with some civilian.

“Okay, Canfield, let’s get this show on the road, then.” Keyes unclipped from his seat, and Canfield stepped forward, waiting for his cue. Keyes nodded at him. Time to give the civvies something to gape at. Impress upon them the absolute
seriousness
that the UNSC was taking about the Cole Protocol. And that included sending an officer to oversee the boarding.

Canfield spat chew out on the grated floor of the Pelican and shouted, “Lock and load Helljumpers!”

Keyes turned to the cockpit. “Drop the ramp, Mr. Jeffries. Hard and quick, as long as it’s clear.”

“Dropping the ramp, sir.”

The ODSTs of the 105th, or Helljumpers as they were also called, clad in black vacuum-rated armor, mirror-faced helmets and all, streamed out. They scattered through the hold of the freighter and its containers, picking targets. They were quick and quiet, with no chatter, and focused on the whole process.

Keyes strode down the ramp into a canyon between the containers. He glanced in through the tough, scratched window of one of them. Nothing to see but labeled boxes.

The captain of the freighter and three of his crew stood with their arms folded at the edge of their bay, watching the ODSTs.

“Sir, are you the captain of this ship?” Keyes asked.

The ascetic man nodded a shock of blond hair. “We did nothing wrong. We’ve made the jump to—”

Keyes held up a hand. “Your ship is leaving UNSC protected space, Captain. You had the choice to make alternate arrangements for this cargo, or request to join a convoy where your navigation would be handled by Navy communications AIs. Either way, we need to wipe your nav data and check the ship out.”

“This is a violation of our rights as merchants. We need to move our cargo now,” the captain insisted.

“Sir, there is a
war
on,” Keyes snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are aliens forcing their way toward the Inner Colonies. Cargo can wait.” ONI was stretching it, targeting civilian ships, but they just couldn’t risk nav data falling into Covenant hands.

The captain glared at Keyes, boiling with anger. “And here we lose another right.”

Keyes turned to Canfield, who had sidled over. He looked eager to get his men kicking in doors and checking over cargo. “Do your thing.”

“Fascists,” the captain spat. Keyes kept an eye on the man. He seemed overly keyed up and angry.

Canfield’s helmet twisted and Keyes heard the crackle of his radio in his earpiece. “Okay, Helljumpers, move out, Oedant—”

Keyes didn’t hear the rest of Canfield’s orders. The container they stood next to exploded, throwing Keyes clear and smacking his head against the deck.

The scene of Helljumpers scrambling for cover faded away as a thick cloud of smoke and unconsciousness rolled over Keyes.

CHAPTER

FIVE

INSURRECTIONIST FREIGHTER
FINNEGAN’S WAKE,
OUTER FRINGES, ECTANUS 45 SYSTEM

Four more explosions rocked the inside of the cargo bay. Debris flew through the air and clattered off the walls, then rained down to the floor. A thick haze of smoke filled the air, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Keyes lay on his side, blinking away the blood trickling down his forehead into his eyes.

He tried to get on his hands and knees to stand, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

An ODST Helljumper grabbed his arm. “Come on, sir, you just got your bell rung.”

The man was right. Keyes could hardly focus on the grating of the floor right under the Helljumper’s boots. He leaned against the Helljumper’s body armor, struggling to keep under his own power.

The thick haze was starting to clear. Keyes let the Helljumper set him down against the side of the container where they’d come in. Keyes could see the high tail of the Pelican around the edge of the container in front of him. The other wounded ODSTs sat by him, armor ripped open or dented from container shrapnel.

Several of the bodies just lay still, flat out on the floor.

Keyes swallowed and rubbed his sleeve over his face to get the blood off. He could feel the warm trickle of more coming. “Where’s Canfield?” He wanted to find out what the veteran ODST commander was doing.

“Canfield’s dead, sir.” The soldier who’d dragged him to safety was checking people for injuries, spraying biofoam into wounds to try and stabilize things. They needed to evacuate quickly before they lost more soldiers.

“Dead?” Keyes blinked more stinging blood and sweat out of his eyes. “Who’s in charge?”

Keyes was overwhelmed with the thought that the entire cargo bay had been a trap that he had led good men into.

“Faison, sir.”

Keyes felt for his earpiece and realized he’d lost it in the shock-wave. “Someone toss me their helmet ASAP. I need a heads-up and comms.”

A wounded soldier threw his helmet over, and Keyes slapped it on his head, wincing when it touched. Whatever hit him had glanced off his skull, giving him a head wound and most likely a concussion.

“Faison, this is Keyes, give me a sit rep.”

“Shaped charges on the containers, sir. Insurrectionists no doubt. Three of them attacked us when the explosions happened.”

“Any survivors?” Keyes had hoped that they’d captured them alive, to get some information out of them.

Faison cleared his throat over the air. “One. He’s with the wounded. Sir, they
were
shooting at us. We thought it prudent to return fire.”

“I understand that.” Keyes said. “I was hoping for intel—like how many more surprises might be waiting. You’re securing the ship, checking for others?”

“Yessir.” Faison sounded a bit annoyed. “Of course, sir. And an emergency beacon has been triggered to bring the
Midsummer Night
in with reinforcements. We’ll move right on through every inch of this boat, sir.”

“I’m sure you will,” Keyes muttered.

“And if you don’t mind, sir, I don’t need someone second guessing my orders and looking over my shoulder. All things considered, sir, you’re Navy, I’m the marine. Let’s stay out of each other’s way.”

The loud roaring in the cargo bay had grown a bit more noticeable. Keyes looked at the soldier checking the wounded over and ignored Faison’s disdain for a more immediate concern. “Son, where are we losing air from?”

“Everywhere. The explosives punched holes all over this little tub,” came a response.

“Wish I were a marine right now,” Keyes said, looking around at the ODSTs. “I’m not in vacuumproof armor.”

“We’ll think of something,” the Helljumper said, glancing over at the Pelican.

Keyes tapped his earpiece. “Jeffries, Keyes here. Acknowledge.”

Silence.

With a grunt Keyes got to his feet and stumbled over to the container. He leaned against it and slid around the corner.

He stared at the gaping hole in the side of the Pelican.

“They pulled him out, sir.” Another Helljumper tapped Keyes on the shoulder. “We pumped him full of foam; he’s in bad shape. But
Midsummer Night
should jockey in here soon. We’ll have them transferred over.”

Keyes looked at the line of wounded and dead ODSTs. These were the best of the best. Ask for volunteers to hold a line and kick ass, they were the first with their hands up. Happy to face the long odds, happy to face the enemy in the eye.

All dead from a routine boarding.

From a trick.

Keyes knew there could be more. He turned to the one
Finnegan’s Wake
crewman still alive. He was lying on the deck with the wounded. A Helljumper sat near him, keeping a pulse.

Keyes looked around the cargo bay.
Think laterally,
he told himself. This wasn’t a typical fight; he needed to think a step ahead.

The Helljumpers were combing the ship for more Innies. They’d need transport off the ship once they’d combed it, since the Pelican they’d come in on was holed. Keyes triggered the
Midsummer Night’s
ship-to-ship channel and tried to make contact, but got nothing.

Keyes bit his lip. “Commander Faison, Keyes here. Did you trigger the beacon calling the
Midsummer Night
in?”

“Faison here. No, sir.”

“Then who did?” Keyes felt a cold stab of fear. They could all hear the beacon just by flipping to the emergency channel. A steady series of digital beeps tapping out a number code that, when translated, told any UNSC listening: men down, need backup and medical assistance with all possible speed.

“I don’t know, sir.” Faison said, annoyed. “We’re in the middle of sweeping the ship…”

“Commander, I’m pulling rank. I’m ordering you to stop the sweep, get a response from every single marine under your command. I want to know who set the beacon off.”

“Yessir,” came Faison’s clipped reply in Keyes’ ear. “Don’t suppose you want me to interview any of the dead, sir? Could be somewhat difficult.” The Helljumper’s passive-agressiveness was turning into anger. Faison obviously wanted to kick back. And hard.

“No, Faison. We’ll do that here.” Keyes turned to the Helljumpers standing around him. He couldn’t see any expressions behind those dark blue faceplates. He had a feeling that there wouldn’t be any smiles. But knowing exactly what was going on in a battle was extremely important. And while they might not respect the man right now, Keyes would make sure that even the ODSTs would damn well respect the rank. “Pull the chips on any soldier’s helmets, check the footage and audio, look to see if anyone triggered a beacon.”

They all stood silent. Then one marine managed a “Sir…”

“Don’t stand there and stare at me,” Keyes shouted, the crack of a whip in the back of his tone. The words echoed in the cavernous bay.
“Just do it!”

They jumped to, pulling chips out of their fallen comrades’ helmets and checking the footage. Keyes looked at the soldier who’d tossed him his helmet, and the man shook his head. Not him.

As they worked, Keyes switched frequencies and continually called out to the
Midsummer Night.
Nothing. They could talk inside the freighter, but it seemed nothing was getting out.

One by one, the Helljumpers all reported their beacon results: nothing.

“Faison?” Keyes called out over comms.

“Nothing here, sir. No one standing did it.”

“Nothing on the wounded or dead.”

“Sir?” Faison wasn’t questioning Keyes this time, or annoyed. He wanted to know what Keyes was thinking.

“The Pelican is down. If any of your men find a way to talk to the
Midsummer Night,
have them tell Zheng to stand off for now. That we have things under control.”

“I’m on it, sir.” Faison went quiet.

Keyes took a deep breath and another wave of dizziness hit him. They were losing too much air from the cargo bay. He had maybe another fifteen minutes before he’d start gasping.

“Sir?” Faison was back. “We’re being jammed. Nothing’s getting out. There are some pretty hefty blast doors between us and the cockpit. We can start working on blowing those out to see if we can gain access to this ship’s comms.”

“No,” Keyes said. “They’ll have more surprises. Not worth it right now. Get back and let’s regroup, figure out what to do.”

“You have a plan?” Faison asked. Keyes smiled inside his ODST helmet. He sure as hell had a plan. But Keyes wasn’t going to broadcast it over a suit radio, not when the Insurrectionists aboard already showed a capacity for messing with their communications so easily.

“No, Commander. I just want to regroup, take care of our wounded, and get ready for the
Midsummer Night
to come in. Get every ODST back to the cargo bay ASAP. Move it.”

He motioned one of the Helljumpers over. The man’s tag read markov.

“Sir.”

“This armor really vacuum proof?” Keyes asked.

“Yessir.”

“How long can the air hold?”

“Fifteen minutes, sir.” Good, that hadn’t changed in his years off.

“Alright, Markov,” Keyes looked around, then lowered his voice. “We need explosives. We’re going to widen one of these debris holes in the hull large enough to shove one of these containers through. Say nothing over comms, ask for anything you need in person and quietly. Grab as many battle rifles as you can, a pair of field goggles, and all the ammo you can hang onto. Move it.”

Markov took off, and Keyes walked over to a puncture in the far side of the hull from the cargo bay doors. The ragged edges whistled as air leaked out the gap.

Keyes walked back toward the wounded. “Listen, as everyone comes in relay this in person. Not over comms, understand? I need all these cargo containers searched and cleared out. Put the dead in one, the wounded in another.”

Helljumpers flooded back into the cargo bay. As word of the order spread, each man started pulling their comrades toward the empty pair of containers.

Markov came back with a pair of battle rifles and extra ammo magazines tucked into every pocket of his armor. Keyes looked him over. “Strip your armor, son, and hand me those rifles. Then I want you in the container with the wounded.”

“Sir?”

“I’m going to need to get out there in front of the containers.”

“There’s other armor,” Markov protested. He pointed a black-gloved hand at the rows of dead men.

Keyes got up close to the man’s helmet. “You want me to use body armor that may have been damaged in the explosion, that may have caused their injury or death? We don’t have time to check them over.”

“Markov, strip your armor down, now!” A Helljumper with squad leader paint on the shoulder of his body armor had walked up behind the two of them. Faison.

Markov removed his armor, and just as quickly Keyes started buckling up.

“No plan, huh?” Faison said out loud. “Sure doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”

Keyes finished snapping up. He was now another black-clad ODST Helljumper for all appearances. He slung the pair of battle rifles over his shoulder and checked to make sure the ammo was all secure.

He looked at Faison. “I lied. I have a plan. They blew us up at the boarding, and they’ve set off the emergency beacon that’s bringing in the
Midsummer Night.
Because we obviously didn’t set it off. What do you think is the next step? I’m willing to bet this whole freighter is ready to blow the moment our ship gets close enough. So for now I want you to get this gap lined with explosives. I want a hole big enough to shove a container through. Wounded are in one container, dead in another. Any walking and fit Helljumpers I want jumping outside and throwing themselves clear of the freighter.”

“We’re blowing out of here?”

“Literally.” Keyes held up a battle rifle. “When you’re in zero-gravity training, rule number one about firing a gun! Make sure you’re braced or you’re intending to go flying.”

“Newton’s third law, sir!” Faison nodded his head. “For every action there’s an equal, and opposite, reaction. You want us to use our weapons like pocket rockets, sir?”

“Now you’re talking my language,” Keyes said. “Yes. We’re all going to jump ship and use our weapons to maneuver, but me first. I can get far enough clear of this jam to warn the
Midsummer Night
what’s happening, we don’t want them shooting at us by mistake.”

“And we’re not using the bay doors because?” Faison asked.

“When terrorists set off a bomb, it’s often designed to create panic so they can do real damage when people start to flee. And what’s the natural escape route here? Can you guarantee me that there are no weapons outside covering it?” Keyes asked.