Halo: The Fall of Reach

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

0320 Hours, July 17, 2552 (Military Calendar)

UNSC Iroquois en route to Sigma Octanus IV

Commander Keyes stood with his hands behind his back and tried to look calm. Not an easy thing to do when his ship was on a collision course with a Covenant battlegroup. Inside, adrenaline raced through his blood and his pulse pounded.

He had to at least appear in control for his crew. He was asking a lot from them . . . probably everything , in fact.

His junior officers watched their status monitors; they occasionally glanced nervously at him, but their gazes always drifted back to the center view screen.

The Covenant ships looked like toys in the distance. It was dangerous to think of them as harmless, however. One slip, one underestimation of their tremendous firepower, and the Iroquois would be destroyed.

The alien carrier had three bulbous sections; its swollen center had thirteen launch bays. Commander Keyes had seen hundreds of fighters stream out of them before—fast, accurate, and deadly craft.

Normally his ship’s AI would handle point defense . . . only this time, there was no AI installed on the Iroquois .

The alien destroyer was a third again as massive as the Iroquois . She bristled with pulse laser turrets, insectlike antennae, and chitinous pods. The carrier and destroyer moved together . . . but not toward Iroquois . They slowly drifted in-system toward Sigma Octanus IV.

Were they going to ignore him? Glass the planet without even bothering to swat him out of the way first?

The Covenant frigates, however, lagged behind. They turned in unison and their sides faced the Iroquois

—preparing for a broadside. Motes of red light appeared and swarmed toward the frigate’s lateral lines, building into a solid stripe of hellish illumination.

“Detecting high levels of beta particle radiation,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “They’re getting ready to fire their plasma weapons, Commander.”

“Course correction, sir?” Lieutenant Jaggers asked. His fingers tapped in a new heading bound out-system.

“Stay on course.” It took all Commander Keyes’ concentration to say that matter-of-factly.

Lieutenant Jaggers turned and started to speak—but Commander Keyes didn’t have time to address his concerns.

“Lieutenant Hikowa,” Commander Keyes said. “Arm a Shiva missile. Remove all nuclear launch safety locks.”

“Shiva armed. Aye, Commander.” Lieutenant Hikowa’s face was a mask of grim determination.

“Set the fuse on radio transmission code sequence detonation only. Disable proximity fuse. Stand by for a launch pilot program.”

“Sir?” Lieutenant Hikowa looked confused by his order, but then said, “Sir! Yes, sir. Making it happen.”

The alien frigates in the center of the view screen no longer looked remotely like toys to Commander Keyes. They looked real and larger every second. The red glow along their sides had become solid bands . . . almost too bright to look directly at.

Commander Keyes picked up his data pad and quickly tapped in calculations: velocity, mass, and heading. He wished they had an AI online to double-check his figures. This amounted to no more than an educated guess. How long would it take the Iroquois to orbit Sigma Octanus IV? He got a number and cut it by 60 percent, knowing they’d either pick up speed . . . or be dead by the time it mattered.

“Lieutenant Hikowa, set the Shiva’s course for mark one eight zero. Full burn for twelve seconds.”

“Aye, sir,” she said, tapped in the parameters, and locked them into the system. “Missile ready, sir.”

“Sir!” Lieutenant Jaggers swiveled around and stood. His lips were drawn into a tight thin line. “That course fires the missile directly away from our enemies.”

“I am aware of that, Lieutenant Jaggers. Sit down and await further orders.”

Lieutenant Jaggers sat. He rubbed his temple with a trembling hand. His other hand balled into a fist.

Commander Keyes linked to the NAV system and set a countdown timer on his data pad. Twenty-nine seconds. “On my mark, Lieutenant Hikowa, launch that nuke . . . and not a moment before.”

“Aye, sir.” Her slender hand hovered over the control panel. “MAC guns are still hot, Commander,” she reminded him.

“Divert the energy keeping the capacitors at full charge and route them to the engines,” Commander Keyes ordered.

Lieutenant Hall said, “Diverting now, sir.” She exchanged a glance with Lieutenant Hikowa. “Engines now operating at one hundred fifty percent of rated output. Red line in two minutes.”

“Contact! Contact!” Lieutenant Dominique shouted. “Enemy plasma torpedoes away, sir!”

Scarlet lightning erupted from the alien frigates—twin bolts of fire streaked through the darkness. They looked as if they could burn space itself. The torpedoes were on a direct course for the Iroquois .

“Course correction, sir?” Lieutenant Jaggers’ voice broke with strain. His uniform was soaked with perspiration.

“Negative,” Commander Keyes replied. “Continue on this heading. Arm all aft Archer missile pods.

Rotate launch arcs one eight zero degrees.”

“Aye, sir.” Lieutenant Hikowa wrinkled her brow, and then she slowly nodded and silently mouthed,

“ . . . yes.”

Boiling red plasma filled half the forward view screen. It was beautiful to watch in an odd way—like a front-row seat at a forest fire.

Keyes found himself strangely calm. This would either work or it would not. The odds were long, but he was confident that his actions were the only option to survive this encounter.

Lieutenant Dominique turned. “Collision with plasma in nineteen seconds, sir.”

Jaggers turned from his station. “Sir! This is suicide! Our armor can’t withstand—”

Keyes cut him off. “Mister, man your station or I will have you removed from the bridge.”

Jaggers looked pleadingly at Hikowa. “We’re going to die , Aki—”

She refused to meet his gaze and turned back to her controls. “You heard the Commander,” she said quietly. “Man your post.”

Jaggers sank into his seat.

“Collision with plasma in seven seconds,” Lieutenant Hall said. She bit her lower lip.

“Lieutenant Jaggers, transfer emergency thruster controls to my station.”

“Yes . . . yes, sir.”

The emergency thrusters were tanks of trihydride tetrazine and hydrogen peroxide. When they mixed, they did so with explosive force—literally blasting the Iroquois onto a new course. The ship had six such tanks strategically placed on hardened points on the hull.

Commander Keyes consulted the countdown timer on his data pad. “Lieutenant Hikowa: fire the nuke.”

“Shiva away, sir! On course—one eight zero, maximum burn.”

Plasma filled the forescreen; the center of the red mass turned blue. Greens and yellows radiated outward, the light frequencies blue-shifting in spectra.

“Distance three hundred thousand kilometers,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “Collision in two seconds.”

Commander Keyes waited a heartbeat then hit the emergency thrusters to port. A bang resonated through the ship’s hull—Commander Keyes flew sideways and impacted with the bulkhead.

The view screen was full of fire and the bridge was suddenly hot.

Commander Keyes stood. He counted the beats of his pounding heart. One, two, three—

If they had been hit by the plasma, there wouldn’t be anything to count. They would be dead already.

Only one view screen was working now, however. “Aft camera,” he said.

The twin blots of fire streaked along their trajectories for a moment, then lazily arced, continuing their pursuit of the Iroquois . One pulled slightly ahead of its counterpart, so they appeared now like two blazing eyes.

Commander Keyes marveled at the aliens’ ability to direct that plasma from such a great distance.

“Good,” he murmured to himself. “Chase us all the way to hell, you bastards.

“Track them,” he ordered Lieutenant Hall.

“Aye, sir,” she said. Her perfectly groomed hair was tousled. “Plasma increasing velocity. Matching our speed . . . overtaking our velocity now. They will intercept in forty-three seconds.”

“Forward camera,” Commander Keyes ordered.

The view screen flashed: the image changed to show the two alien frigates turning to face the incoming Iroquois head-on. Blue lights flickered along their hulls—pulse lasers charging.

Commander Keyes pulled back the camera angle and saw the alien carrier and the destroyer were still inbound toward Sigma Octanus IV. He read their position off his data pad and quickly performed the necessary calculations.

“Course correction,” he told Lieutenant Jaggers. “Come about to heading zero zero four point two five.

Declination zero zero zero point one eight.”

“Aye, sir,” Jaggers said. “Zero zero four point two five. Declination zero zero zero point one eight.”

The view screen turned and centered on the enormous Covenant destroyer.

“Collision course!” Lieutenant Hall announced. “Impact with Covenant destroyer in eight seconds.”

“Stand by for new course correction: declination minus zero zero zero point one zero.”

“Aye, sir.” As Jaggers typed he wiped the sweat from his eyes and double-checked his numbers.

“Course online. Awaiting your order, sir.”

“Collision with Covenant destroyer in five seconds,” Hall said. She clutched the edge of her seat.

The destroyer grew in the view screen: laser turrets and launch bays, bulbous alien protrusions and flickering blue lights.

“Hold this course,” Commander Keyes said. “Sound collision alarm. Switch to undercarriage camera now.”

Klaxons blared.

The view screen snapped off and on and showed black space—then a flash of the faint purple-blue hull of a Covenant ship.

The Iroquois screeched and shuddered as she grazed the prow of the Covenant destroyer. Silver shields flickered onscreen—then the screen filled with static.

“Course correction now!” Commander Keyes shouted.

“Aye, sir.”

There was a brief burn from the thrusters and the Iroquois nudged down slightly.

“Hull breach!” Lieutenant Hall said. “Sealing pressure doors.”

“Aft camera,” Commander Keyes said. “Guns: Fire aft Archer missile pods!”

“Missiles away,” Lieutenant Hikowa replied.

Keyes watched as the first of the plasma torpedoes that had been trailing the Iroquois impacted on the prow of the alien destroyer. The ship’s shields flared, flickered . . . and vanished. The second bolt hit a moment later. The hull of the alien ship blazed and then turned red-hot, melted, and boiled. Secondary explosions burst through the hull.

The Archer missiles streaked toward the wounded Covenant ship, tiny trails of exhaust stretching from the Iroquois to the target. They slammed into the gaping wounds in the hull and detonated. Fire and debris burst from the destroyer.

A smile spread across Keyes’ face as he watched the alien ship burn, list, and slowly plunge into Sigma Octanus IV’s gravity well. Without power, the Covenant vessel would burn up in the planet’s atmosphere.

Commander Keyes flicked on the intercom. “Brace for emergency thruster maneuver.”

He punched the thruster controls—explosive force detonated on the starboard side of the ship.

The Iroquois nosed toward Sigma Octanus IV.

“Course correction, Lieutenant Jaggers,” he said. “Bring us into a tight orbit.”

“Aye, sir.” He furiously tapped in commands, diverting engine output through attitude thrusters.

The hull of the Iroquois glowed red as it entered the atmosphere. A cloud of yellow ionization built up around the view screen.

Commander Keyes gripped the railing tighter.

The view screen cleared and he could see the stars. The Iroquois entered the dark side of the planet.

Commander Keyes slumped forward and started breathing again.

“Engine coolant failure, sir,” Lieutenant Hall said.

“Shut the engines down,” he ordered. “Emergency vent.”

“Aye, sir. Venting fusion reactor plasma.”

The Iroquois was abruptly quiet. No rumble of her engines. And no one said anything until Lieutenant Hikowa stood and said, “Sir, that was the most brilliant maneuver I have ever seen.”

Commander Keyes gave a short laugh. “You think so, Lieutenant?”

If one of his students had proposed such a maneuver in his tactics class, he would have given them a C+.

He would have told them their maneuver was full of bravado and daring . . . but extremely risky, placing the crew in the ship in unnecessary danger.

“This isn’t over yet. Stay sharp,” he told them. “Lieutenant Hikowa what is the charge status of the MAC guns?”

“Capacitors at ninety-five percent, sir, and draining at a rate of three percent per minute.”

“Ready MAC guns, one heavy round apiece. Arm all forward Archer missile pods.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Iroquois broke free of the dark side of Sigma Octanus IV.

“Fire chemical thrusters to break orbit, Lieutenant Hall.”

“Firing, aye.”

There was a brief rumble. The screen centered on the backsides of the two Covenant frigates they had passed on the way in.

The alien ships started to come about; blue flashes flickered along their hulls as their laser turrets charged. Motes of red collected along their lateral lines. They were readying another salvo of plasma torpedoes.

There was something there, however, that was too small to see on the view screen: the nuke. Keyes had launched that missile in the opposite direction—but its reverse thrust had not completely overcome their tremendous forward velocity.

As the Iroquois had screamed over the prow of the destroyer, and as they orbited Sigma Octanus IV, the nuke had drifted closer to the frigates . . . who had fixed their attention solidly on the Iroquois .

Commander Keyes tapped his data pad and sent the signal to detonate the bomb.

There was a flash of white, a crackle of lightning, and the alien ships vanished as a cloud of destruction enveloped them. Waves of the EMP interacted with the magnetic field of Sigma Octanus IV—rippled with rainbow borealis. The cloud of vapor expanded and cooled, and faded to yellow, orange, red, then black dust that scattered into space.

Both Covenant frigates, however, were still intact. Their shields, however, flickered once . . . then went dead.

“Get me firing solutions for the MAC guns, Lieutenant Hikowa. On the double.”

“Aye, sir. MAC gun capacitors at ninety-three percent. Firing solution online.”

“Fire, Lieutenant Hikowa.”

Two thumps resonated through the hull of the Iroquois .

“Lock remaining Archer missile pods on targets and fire.”

“Missiles away, Commander.”

Twin thunderbolts and hundreds of missiles streaked toward the two helpless frigates.

The MAC rounds tore though them—one ship was holed from nose to tail; the other ship was hit on her midline, right near the engines. Internal explosions chained up the length of the ship, bulging the second ship’s hull along her length.

Archer missiles impacted seconds later, exploding through chunks of hull and armor, tearing the alien ships apart. The frigate that had taken the MAC round in her engines mushroomed, a fireworks bouquet of shrapnel and sparks. The other ship burned, her internal skeletal structure showing now; she turned toward the Iroquois but didn’t fire a weapon . . . just drifted out of control. Dead in space.

“Position of the Covenant carrier, Lieutenant Hall?”

Lieutenant Hall paused, then reported, “In polar orbit around Sigma Octanus Four. But she’s moving off at considerable speed. Headed out-system, course zero four five.”

“Alert the Allegiance and Gettysburg of her position.”

Commander Keyes sighed and slumped back into his chair. They had stopped the Covenant ships from glassing the planet—saved millions of lives. They had done the impossible: taken on four Covenant ships and won.

Commander Keyes paused in his self-congratulation. Something was wrong. He had never seen the Covenant run. In every battle he had seen or read about, they stayed to slaughter every last survivor . . .

or if they were defeated, they always fought to the last ship.

“Check the planet,” he told Lieutenant Hall. “Look for anything—dropped weapons, strange transmissions. There’s got to be something there.”

“Aye, sir.”

Keyes prayed she wouldn’t find anything. At this point he was out of tricks. He couldn’t turn the Iroquois around and return to Sigma Octanus IV even if he had wanted to. The Iroquois ’ engines were down for a long time. They were speeding on an out-system vector at a considerable velocity. And even if they could stop—there was no way to recharge the MAC guns, and no remaining Archer missiles. They were practically dead in space.

He pulled out his pipe and steadied his shaking hand.

“Sir!” Lieutenant Hall cried. “Dropships, sir. The alien carrier deployed thirty—correction: thirty-four—

dropships. I have silhouettes descending to the surface. They’re on course for Côte d’Azur. A major population center.”

“An invasion,” Commander Keyes said. “Get FLEETCOM ASAP. Time to send in the Marines.”