His gaze locked onto the Banshees in the air. He searched for Linda, posted somewhere in the odd geometry of this station. She could be anywhere along several kilometers of cityscape.
	John clicked on his COM. “Linda, do not reply. The Covenant are triangulating on our signals. I’m hoping they do and send a few of those Banshees to reconnoiter. When they get close to the heat-exchange plant, take them out—we’ll need their vehicles.”
	There was no answer. Did that mean Linda understood and was in a position to help? Or was she dead?
	As John hoped, three Banshees peeled off the search formation, circling the temple and turning toward them.
	John waved Fred and Will out of the elevator and into the forest of steaming pipes. They scattered, took cover, and aimed at the incoming Banshees.
	The Banshees spread out, slowed…but then banked, returning to the temple.
	John clicked his COM three times.
	The Elite pilots immediately wheeled about and accelerated toward their position. One Banshee flier nosed into a classic strafing dive. Its plasma cannons warmed and crackled with energy, indicating an imminent discharge.
	There was a spray of blood in the flier, then the pilot fell forward and pushed the accelerator to full. The Banshee careened through the air at maximum velocity—crashing into a water-recovery tower, and wobbled to the ground.
	“Linda,” John muttered and tried to spot her. Judging from the blood spray, she’d managed to send a round through the tiny exposed area of the cockpit, and inflicted a lethal ricochet. He looked for her position; most likely the shot had come from behind and above. There were numerous catwalks running across the length of the massive room. She had to be on one of them.
	The two remaining Banshees accelerated toward Blue Team. Their plasma cannons flickered, and they leveled into a flat trajectory.
	John, Fred, and Will raised their rifles.
	There was a muted crack of a sniper rifle, and another Banshee drifted to the ground, its pilot felled by Linda’s uncanny skill.
	The last remaining pilot veered starboard, not knowing what had just taken out its two wingmates…only that it had to get out of the area if it was going to live. In the tightest arc of its curve, the craft slowed. John couldn’t tell precisely where the shot came from, but a third sniper round ricocheted through the craft’s cockpit. The Banshee spun in circles before it thumped to a halt, nose-down in the street.
	Three impossible shots, three kills. Even for Linda, this was superb shooting—the finest shots John had ever seen. He looked around the station, over the buildings, spires, catwalks, transit tubes—it was impossible to spot her.
...
	Four Banshee fliers fell in behind him. John weaved back and forth. A pair of plasma bolts sizzled over his head.
	He risked a look over his shoulder and saw two of the Banshees drop away. A moment later they crashed into the surface.
	Linda still had his back covered.
...
	A pair of Banshees swooped in, one off his port, the other on his starboard. Their plasma weapons heated; John rolled back and forth to throw their aim. He braced for impact…but there was none.
	The Chief craned his head back and saw the pilot of the lead Banshee slump, slide off the flier, and plummet to the ground. The trailing Banshee was riderless as well…only a blood-spattered cockpit and cowling.
	Linda still had him covered—had taken out both pilots with precise fire. She had to be close.
...
	“Position report, Linda,” John barked over the COM. “That’s a direct order.”
	Three seconds ticked off his mission clock and then the six-tone “Oly Oly Oxen Free” song whistled through John’s speakers and a NAV marker appeared on his heads-up display.
	The triangular marker centered on a rope that ran between two transit tubes and dangled perilously close to the high-intensity light beam. It was a barely discernible thread that ran through a hard shadow cast by a nearby catwalk.
	John hit his image enhancers. Through the glare of the light, and in the depths of the shadow, he caught the flicker of reflected optics.
	Linda used both the brilliant light and the darkness to hide.
	John angled the Banshee to her. He clipped the tether line from his armor to the frame of the Banshee and pulled his body deeper into the craft.
	When he was thirty meters away, he made visual contact. Linda had the rope coiled about a boot and wrapped about one forearm. She held her sniper rifle in one arm, and John could only surmise that she had been firing from such an impossible position.

First Strike Ch 34