Eighteen kilometers into Blue Team’s run, the ground started to roll in a series of high, gentle hills that blocked their view of the plateau ahead. The crystal bushes were slowly giving way to tall, diamond-shaped sheet plants that tried to enfold any object that brushed against them. John’s legs burned from exertion, and his lungs hurt like he was breathing ammonia. His skinsuit was having trouble bleeding off body heat, and he could hear the accumulating dust rasping in the Mjolnir’s joints.
	But his HUD showed only a thousand meters to the Wheatley. It had been just thirty-three minutes since Captain Dkani’s emergency transmission reporting the approach of a large alien force from the Lucky Break , and the distant scream- crump of Covenant plasma cannons suggested to John that he and Fred and Linda had arrived in time to repel the boarding attempt. He tapped the stock of his BR55 over his forearm to make sure the barrel was not packed with any dust or residue.
	...
	The team had already performed two checks during the long run.
	John returned all of his grenades to their satchel, then grabbed the BR55 again and checked Fred’s and Linda’s status lights. Both green. Weapons ready. His HUD had him at seven hundred meters from the Wheatley , with Fred still a hundred meters ahead.
	Fred and Linda had to be as exhausted as John was—the Mjolnir’s force-multiplying circuits could not do all the work. But everyone’s hydration tubes were now delivering a monosaccharide-glycogen solution that would provide energy for the coming fight. Which meant they should be ready to do battle without taking a rest break.
	Still, it paid to be sure. A nineteen-kilometer near-sprint was tough, even for Spartans.
	“Everybody able to engage?” John asked. “All support equipment operational?”
	A pair of status lights winked green inside John’s helmet.